Broud's Destiny
by Stephanie625
Summary: While searching for a new cave, Broud's Clan is attacked by a band of Others, and several Clan members-including Brun and Oga-are killed. Bent on foolish revenge, Broud takes his best hunters to clash with the Others only to be saved by one of their women. Ties up loose ends from EC series while filling out the life of the man everyone loves to hate. Clan of the Cave Bear FanFic
1. Chapter 1

Broud's Destiny

Chapter One

It had happened too fast. Oga had been beside him, and then the men of the Others had rushed in, their faces blanched white with clay, and Broud had heard his mother scream, and Brun had been attacked.

And then, at that horrific moment, Broud had turned only to see his own mate struck with a spear that whistled out of the sky. The spear had been thrown from an incredible distance, carried on a rush of wind as if the spirits themselves had been wielding it. It was one of the spears of the Others that Broud now focused on as he sat beside the body of his dead mate. He could not-_would_ not-think of Oga's face as she knew she was to die. Or the way she had looked in the first flush of womanhood, when she was always so eager to care for him. Or the way her coarse, thick black hair had felt in his hands, and oh! Countless things that Broud had loved about her. And he had never told her, not once, he hadn't even thanked her… The guilt was a sharp ache in his heart, a pain mixed from the agony of Oga's death and his own bitter failure to protect her. But above it all, Broud felt a seething fury that no one had ever listened to him before about Ayla, about her kind. The threat that he had perceived as a child-nameless, unable to ever be explained fully-had been brought sharply to life in the bloodiest and most cruel way imaginable. It was Broud's nightmare, but where before the danger had been murky and veiled, now it was as real as a bolt of lightning igniting a forest, as real as a stampeding mammoth. The stirring of such powerful emotions overwhelmed the unstable young leader, and he banished them as best he could. He curled his hand over the short shaft of the animals' weaponry, and wondered about the curious manner in which it had been thrown, set into its magical flight by of another shaft of wood.

Behind him, his people, dazed and already exhausted from living outside for so long, were tending the injured and numbly seeing to their dead. Broud heard the careful footfalls of someone behind him, and yet he ignored it, lost in his own consuming mix of hatred, misery, and guilt.

It was Goov. Broud recognized the familiar beat of his careful, steady gait before the new mog-ur appeared at his side. But the furious leader would not give the man any recognition. Finally, the mog-ur said, "Broud."

The young leader already knew what would be said. Still, the simple gestures and soft words were enraging.

"We must take her. She will need her rites, and burial."

"No!" Broud cut his hand through the air, in a gesture that both refused and banished his former friend. Goov backed away in silence, to see to his own frightened mate Ovra and prepare to seek the guidance of the spirits.

Broud ran his fingers over the spear tip. It was not flint, but a shiny black material equally as workable, and lethally sharp. It was like no stone Broud had ever seen, which made enough sense. The Others, these animals, these demons, were wide-travelling people. They were passing through his land, but they had come from far away. And they did not belong here. The Others were not Clan, and they had no respect for anything. They had attacked Broud's camp for nothing but sport, as if they were playing at the hunt, and no matter what any of his people did to put their lives back together, Broud knew in his bones that this was but the first of taste of a great coming evil. And he had taken a great loss already; Brun and Oga were both dead, and nothing could be done to change that, either.

Even now, he could feel the eyes of _her_ child upon him: Durc, that lanky toddler that Broud tolerated only because it seemed the child would be a hunter of great prowess. Having so recently the quarry of Durc's true people, the thought of the boy's inherited skill was enough to bring bile to Broud's lips.

Slowly, Broud began to understand what he must do. He would not consent to being ambushed, stalked like a roe-deer. Let the women and the old folk and the weaklings tend to the burials. Broud would take his heavy spear and his best four hunters, and they would follow the Others who had murdered Oga and Brun, and they would kill them all to a man.

* * *

><p>"The men should be back already, Kyani. Don't go too far now. I don't need any medicine. I don't feel so bad anymore…"<p>

"Hush, Father," the girl said softly. "You will ache again if I don't make your tea."

The old man grumbled a bit, knowing that it was true. His concerns for his only child's safety were circular, always leading back to the main argument. "Child, why do you not take Tarek as a mate when he returns? He is a good hunter, and he admires you. I am not long for this world. Who will protect you when I am gone? Who will care for you?"

Kyani bowed her head. "I am still in mourning, Papa."

"You mourn too long for a girl only mated a month!"

Kyani bit her lip. It was true, but then Kyani was a warm young woman, and she had loved her young mate with her whole heart. When the fever had set in she had tried so hard to save him, without any thought for her own health. But by the time the illness had taken hold of him, there was nothing anyone could do, not even the band's medicine woman. Six months later, she still wept for her loss.

The old man was once a fearful warrior, but his tenderness for his child, and his declining health, made her tears intolerable to him. "Go on, go on!" He waved his hand at his young daughter. "Gather your herbs and hurry with my tea. The air grows cold at night; it's a misery to my bones."

Kyani set off, hurrying over the open land for the safety of the heavy primordial forest. The day had an odd feel, and the girl thought fleetingly about the rumors of the Old Ones nearby. Tarek and his cocky group of young hunters had ventured away from the main band nearly a moon ago, and though young men often roamed over long distances, Kyani knew they should have had some word of the hunters by now. But the summer sun dappled pleasantly through the trees, and the day was fresh, and the girl genuinely enjoyed her solitude. It was the only time no one would harass her about Tarek's overtures, or admonish her with the cruel reminder that life must go on. Her slim legs propelled her up a rise in the land, and she paused for a moment before a clutch of blackberry bushes. After gathering enough to share with her sick father, she moved on, down the rocky slope, over the thick, mossy trunk of a fallen pine tree. Kyani was quite small for her age but her slender body was strong. She was accustomed to travelling over long distances as her people chased the ever wandering game herds. She often got lost in her own daydreams while walking, though at a subconscious level she watched everything about the forest around her. And as the day went on, and she walked farther away from her people than she should, her eyes picked up something out of place against some large boulders at the base of another half-eroded hill.

The girl gasped at the sight of a man laying prone beside the rocks. His clothes were like nothing she had ever seen, and strange men were more dangerous than cave lions, especially to young women. But this man was not moving. Was he dead?

And then she heard the faint sound of his moan, and she knew that he was not dead, but likely dying. She crept cautiously closer, and saw the caked blood on his strong leg. Blood and filth stained his odd garments, and Kyani feared that his injuries were not fresh but days old. Infection would be setting in, and the wounded man certainly couldn't reach the stream a ways back…

Compelled by mercy and careless for herself, Kyani hurried down to the man. He was turned away from her, making some sound of anguish and pain but little movement. His voice was already weak; Kyani knew she could not leave him to die alone. The wind passed through the forest, stirring the fur leggings around his calves and tossing about his thick hair, the color of dark, red-tinted earth. Afraid to startle him, she murmured a greeting, before looking again at the long gash on his thigh. As she had thought, under all the dirt and blood she could see the edges of the wound swelling. Already, foul, yellow tinted ooze was seeping from the torn flesh. "You're hurt pretty bad," she said a little louder, crouching down beside him.

In a moment, the man turned his head, and Kyani almost fell backward. He was like no man she knew, bigger and bulkier in every way- he was one of them, the old ones! The demons that had killed three of her male cousins right before her eyes when she was a little girl, three of her people who had only sought trade and friendship… Frozen in terror, Kyani gazed on the delirious foreign man and knew that he would die without her.

Broud looked up at the creature that had disturbed his dying. He was already succumbing to his fever, and he was too close to the spirit world to make any sense of what she was. All he knew was that she was tiny and her hair was shiny and black, and her eyes were the strangest color he had ever seen, the purple of the new night sky just after sunset, the purple of sweet summer flowers. She was so peculiar, so unfamiliar, yet the dying man had the uncanny sense that she was here to take him home to his ancestors. Well, he was resigned. There was some reason, though he couldn't recall it, that he ought to die. Some reason why he deserved it over all others, and here was this strange spirit to take him to his rightful fate. He would embrace it. With his last strength, he reached out and placed his wide hand against her small, delicate face. _She seems frightened_, he thought curiously, and then he didn't care anymore, and he gave into his darkness.

* * *

><p>Hours later, Broud regained consciousness with a start as his head was lifted off the ground. Water rushed over his parched throat, and he drank thirstily. And then he opened his eyes to find a woman of the Others before him, holding a bone cup to his lips. Instantly he smacked it out of her hand and tried to pull himself away, but the pain in his leg rose up so fiercely that he nearly vomited. Everything came back to him in a torrent of agony and fury: the attack, the loss of his mate and his mother's mate, the retaliatory raid that had killed his hunters, the man of the Others who had torn his thigh open with a stinging knife. Broud thought that one, or perhaps two, of the Others had survived; one had run like a coward, the other Broud had torn apart but failed to kill. Broud looked down at the wound and almost fainted in shock to see that it was bound up with fresh dressing. He looked at the woman who knelt at his side, fearful, but with something like the patience of a woman for a child in her odd eyes. She spoke: a rolling, undulating pattern of sounds that reminded the injured man of the rushing of the cool brook near his old cave.<p>

He had no idea what she meant, of course. She retrieved the cup and filled it from a water sack made from the treated stomach of a deer. She hesitated before extending her arm, wondering if Broud would smack it away again. Kyani thought that he was likely dying from thirst, but there was something in the furious depths of his deep brown eyes that terrified her. "You should drink," she said quietly, knowing he did not understand her. Against Broud's weakened will, the gentle cadence of her voice lulled him. He sighed, driven to it only by the fierce need of his tortured body, and let her pour the sweet water into his mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good to him.

By the time the soft light of early evening filtered down through the thick pines, Broud was hydrated and his fever was lowered by the willow-bark tea she had hastily made and carried to him. He was able to think better. But he did not want to think, because he knew that he had done nothing but lost his second in command and dear friend Vorn, along with his two other best hunters. This was in addition to the two men and three women already dead from the first attack. Could their numbers even be so reduced that they would not make it as a clan? How could this have happened so quickly? First they lost the cave, and now this? The leader's head ached from it, and worse, he was beginning to understand his own deep culpability in all the calamities that had befallen his people. Brun had been right about him: Broud was too rash, perhaps even unfit to lead. The pain of this was almost too much for Broud to bear, and now he did not even have Brun to turn to for guidance.

_I have to get back to my people,_ he thought, groaning because he couldn't even move without terrible pain. The wound in his leg was deep, slicing into the heavy muscles of his thigh. He had lost a great deal of blood. But Broud had always been strong. He forced himself to sit through the atrocious pain, breathing hard from the effort. To his utter shock the woman, whom he had almost forgotten, touched his shoulder with her long, fragile-looking fingers. He looked up at her with true astonishment. Women did not touch men this way, and besides, who was she to try to restrain him? In his anger, he wanted to strike her, but he found he was too exhausted from trying to master his pain. He merely glared at her, knowing for certain that though they could not communicate with words or even gestures, she would understand the look in his eyes.

"Suit yourself," Kyani said simply. Strangely, this man reminded Kyani of her father at his most irritable, when he was suffering from his infirmities and the bitterness of not being able to hunt anymore. She tightened the water sack and tucked her cup into the leather pouch she had snatched over her sleeping father's head. She would have to return soon, but she dreaded leaving the injured man out in the open at night. He would be powerful in full health, Kyani thought, meeting his appalled stare and still scanning his hard face and body with the eyes of a girl who had tended to a sick and cranky man for years. He would be more than powerful. She found herself wondering what sort of game he preferred to hunt. There was some enormous claw, perhaps a cave-bear claw, on a cord around his neck. She thought she could see a tattoo on his chest, and she wondered if it was the mark of his spirits. She wondered what sort of spirit guided him. Surely it would be a fierce one. His eyes burned, even without the fever. "You can't stay here," she told him quietly. Helpless, she looked about the darkening forest, pointing into the shadows, to the deepening sky. She wished she knew where his people were. She thought about asking some of the men of her camp for help, but knew that after that one terrible incident years ago, her own kind were more likely to finish the poor man off than bring him to the camp and let him recover. But still, perhaps if she asked her aunt…

_I am a dead man if she leaves me alone,_ Broud thought, gazing towards the newly risen waxing moon. At least he would be able to see whatever it was that would come out to eat him. This woman, Broud wondered, where is she from? And why is she helping me? Does she know what I would do to her, if I could? And will she bring her kind here, to kill me?

Broud knew that he couldn't do anything at all tonight. He leaned back on the cold stone behind him, and to keep from remembering the nightmares he had caused, he watched this curious little woman of the Others. She seemed afraid, but not of him anymore. In fact, she seemed afraid _for_ him. And now, she was walking away from him. His eyes watched the sway of her slim body, and he wondered if she was a child rather than a woman. _You can't tell with their kind_, he knew. To his surprise, she returned with an armful of dried kindling, neatly arranging some dried leaves and dead orange pine needles before scrabbling in the dirt to make her fire. As he watched, preferring the sight of her to the awareness of his own pain and guilt, she built a pretty little fire beside him, lined with stones and complete with a pile of logs. He could pick one up and smack her with it, easily. Broud chastened himself for this thought. The woman, the child, whatever it was, had built a fire for him. He would have a chance tonight. He was wishing that he still had his spear when the girl of the Others slowly, cautiously, set a strange black knife at his side. At the sight of the large weapon in those small, feminine hands, Broud's jaw unhinged. It was the girl's father's ten inch obsidian blade set in a bone handle, the one he took on hunts to finish off game; the old man would not miss it. As soon as the girl set the weapon down she jumped away, darting into the dark forest as gracefully as a doe. Broud was dumbfounded. The girl had left him her water, too.

* * *

><p>Kyani woke in the first light of morning. Father was still sleeping. The old man felt that he had little to live for; if only his child would find another mate he could go on to the spirit world, where perhaps he might be useful again. Consequently, he spent as much time in his dreams as he could, when he was still a young and powerful man in his band of men. Kyani gazed on the old man for a moment. "I'm sorry, Papa," she whispered. And then she tore into their stores of dried venison, gathered fresh strips of bandaging and her own honey-paste mixture made for dressing wounds. Kyani's aunt Myriana was a healer, and though her own daughter would succeed her, she had taught Kyani some of her skill. Ilona, another young woman who was growing thick with child, laughed and asked the girl where she was going in such a hurry.<p>

Kyani knew she couldn't tell about the man of the old ones, not yet anyway. Perhaps not ever. And when the new moon came, they would move on again, and the man would be left alone… _I'll do what I can,_ Kyani promised herself. _He is strong, he'll be able to walk soon. _She rushed into the forest, back to the injured man.

She found him awake, sitting up still and turning the obsidian blade around in his hands as if it were a mystery to unravel. Kyani hesitated. He was obviously better; strong enough to kill her? He swept his dark eyes up at the girl as she stood uncertain before him, and they held each other's gaze for a frighteningly long time. But then the injured man of the old ones sighed, and tossed the knife a short distance away in a gesture meant to reassure the strange girl who was back again. Broud hoped she had some food for him. And truth be told, he had never felt so alone in his life, or so terribly helpless. He couldn't believe he was doing it, but he gestured the girl over to him, as if she were a real girl, a girl of the Clan who could care for him. As if she were- Well, Broud refused to think of that.

Kyani rushed to him, knelt at his side and ignored the powerful arms and hands that could break her effortlessly. She wanted, first, to touch his brow and look into his eyes to see if he still had that hateful fever. And so she raised her hand slowly, but he leaned away, breathing a very wary, disapproving breath through his tight jaw. Still, his eyes were clear and dark, and he was alert. She lowered her pack and dug out first the venison. He was hungry, a good sign. He ate quickly, and as Broud tasted his first bit of food in days, the girl put her hands tentatively on his injured leg. He flinched at the uninvited female touch, but he knew it was necessary if he were to live and return to his people. The girl swept his wrap aside in one bold, business-like stroke, even as her ivory cheeks burned red to see him fully, a much larger and more powerful man than she was accustomed to seeing unclothed. Broud was slightly amused by this, and he ignored his pain enough to raise his leg and let her undo yesterday's binding. The wound looked better. Kyani washed it carefully from the water she had left the day before, and she was struck by recognition. She had thought first that an animal had gored the man, perhaps on a hunt gone awry, but her growing sense of discomfort was too much to dismiss. Kyani realized all at once that this was a wound done by a man, perhaps even…

Broud followed her eyes, her fearful curiosity. He slowly leaned away, pulling his heavy body along until he grasped the obsidian knife again. Kyani was stunned with fear, wondering if he would kill her as she tried to help him. There were demons in his eyes, she had seen that yesterday. Now she began to sense what had put them there, what had done this to him.

Broud shifted his weight again. He could smell her sudden rise of fear, but it didn't matter. Her eyes had asked a question, and he meant to answer her. He meant to tell her just what had happened, in the most direct way possible. He held the weapon of the Others in his hand, and slowly, he pantomimed the injury that the man of the Others had dealt him as Broud had rammed his spear into another man's belly. He looked back up at her and pushed the knife towards her, as if to tell about its obvious ownership.

"Oh," she breathed, horrified. A thousand questions arose in her mind. Had he met their hunting party? Were there others of his kind with him? Where were they now? And where was Tarek's group of hunters, so long overdue? Had they met in the forest and slaughtered each other? And why were men so stupid? It had been a hard winter, with few successful hunts in the area. Likely both groups had suffered, and so why not work together? Why kill? Why always kill? What would happen to them now, without the young hunters? And Tarek, he was bad-tempered anyway, she could imagine him striking first…

_Ursus help me, her eyes are leaking. _Broud knew very well what _that_ meant. Yes, yes, I killed your awful people. But _they_ are the tresspassers! Broud sunk his hands into the earth beside him, pulling up a chunk of it. He held it out to her and then clutched it to his own heart. _My land, do you understand that? This is _my _land._

Kyani looked away, pointedly ignoring him. She returned to the task of dressing his wound, which pleased her because she saw that the inflammation was going down. _Not so many days ago, then. _And then, as she finished, the man's heavy hand caught hers. She looked up in fear, and he met her gaze for a long moment; there was challenge in his eyes, and an easy knowledge of his own unassailable physical dominance. But then he looked away, to her hand, which was so small in his. His fingers ran down her arm, feeling the lightness of her bones, the elegant proportions of her arm. He swept his fingers up again, over her palm, spreading her own hands out, measuring against them.

"Hand," she said softly. The man looked up at her curiously, as if a tree had spoken, and out of turn at that. Kyani remembered then. When she had been a little girl, she had found it quite curious that the women of the Clan were so deferential to the men. After all, they contributed in just as many ways, including that most important of all, the bringing of new life. But so much made sense now-the sharp, horrified look in his face when she had touched his shoulder, hoping he wouldn't try to move anymore. That he had smacked her hand away in his first moment of consciousness. She had offended him with her forwardness, though Kyani had never thought of herself as forward at all. She looked away from him, as if to give him that personal space that men of his sort wanted. Still, he held her hand up, and she would not remove it.

And then, the man gave his own word. Kyani was stunned. She tried her lips on the sound, which was harsher than her own, like the hiss of winter wind. She looked back at him. His pleasure was grudged, and Kyani couldn't help offer a small smile at that.

_Grimace,_ Broud thought. But a pretty enough one. She wasn't bearing her teeth like a snarling wolf. _What am I thinking?_ He closed his fingers on hers quickly, wondering how such ridiculously delicate people could have thrown a spear so far, even with that strange tool. The girl's violet eyes were wide now, as Broud swung between hatred and this new thing he felt, this growing desire to keep the girl with him until he could leave. He was utterly lonely and miserable when left to his own thoughts. The female offered diversion, and a chance to learn something of her people. Broud knew in his guts that if he could not learn about them, he was doomed to die at their hands, as more and more of their kind streamed across his land. For countless millennia, his people had been the apex predators of Europe, but these light and lanky newcomers sweeping out of the south and east somehow were tearing the old balance apart. Could they be stopped? If only Broud could see her camp!

He let her go, thinking she might run now. But instead she examined her own hand, and then, she dropped it to her foot and gave her word. Broud narrowed his eyes, and Kyani thought he was still angry. But then, in a whisper, Broud offered his word. It became a game for them, the girl determined to save a life and the man afraid to be left to his own horrors. They traded words quickly, and sometimes the man would make a motion and throw her off, because she knew he had somehow taken their game to a level she didn't understand. His frightening dark eyes grew warm then. When a bird called, he gave her the word for the creature, and then the gesture to indicate that it sang. He touched his throat pointedly, and was rewarded with a rush of relief and pleasure when the girl repeated both his word and gesture. It didn't surprise him, Ayla had learned with the same speed, so they were not a stupid people. Broud was stunned at the depth of his pleasure to be communicating after his long, bloody, and unsuccessful bid at vengeance.

And then the girl grew quiet, almost nervous. She motioned through the canopy to the sky, and he guessed right away. She would leave him, she would return to her own kind. They would be worried, surely. Broud didn't want her to go. In fact, everything in him wanted to grab her about her little waist and plop her down beside him, but he only watched as she made up his fire, took the water sack and went off to fill it, and finally returned to place it beside him. She put her fingers on the knife by his side, and then she turned the bone hilt up and handed it to him. Broud marveled at the sight of her small, fragile hand grasping what was obviously a man's weapon, so innocent and careless of the laws of his own people that would condemn her for it. The Others were as strange as he has suspected. He took the knife from her, and bowed his head in gratitude. It would not be much of a help in the forest, but a fire and a weapon left Broud in much better form than he had been in, lying helpless in delirium. Even his leg felt better, and his stomach was full of a great deal of dried venison which surely would be missed by someone in her camp. It struck him hard, then: this girl of the hated Others was saving his life.

As she left, Broud found himself watching again as her hips rocked with her gait. He decided that she was surely a woman, albeit a young one. He wondered if she had a mate, and what that man might think of her care for an enemy. He found himself curious about what her small body would feel like beneath his, and how her hips would fit into his wide, strong hands. Just as his body stirred in response to his thoughts, he realized what he was thinking. He closed his hand around the strange weapon, just the same as the one that had injured him. He wished Creb were alive so that he could help Broud make sense of this madness. But Broud had killed Creb, as surely as if with his own hands. And he had gone to kill the Others as well, yet here he was, unable to walk and at the mercy of one of their women, who for some reason unknown to any but the spirits, was nursing him to health and arming him with the very weapon that struck him. And she was as beautiful and sweet as a summer breeze, and that made no sense either.

* * *

><p>"Kyani! Kyani!" Sara rushed up to Kyani the moment she returned, tears all over her face. The members of the band streamed by, rushing through their dome-shaped tents to the meeting place around the central campfire. In the center of a clutch of shouting men she could see a bloodied man sitting on the ground, where Myriana the medicine woman was tending him. She gasped as she knew that the survivors of the clash between her people and the injured man's kind had returned.<p>

Sara's words rained around her. "They were attacked by the demon-people! Oh, Kyani, Tarek was killed! Ilona's brother is badly injured-"

Kyani ran from Sara, to the crush of her people. Drakav, eldest son of the leader, was shouting in the center of the other men. "No! There are more! One got away, and the rest of his kind must still be close by! We should hunt him down! Let us make war on these demons, and finish them!"

"We should move on, Drakav," Myriana judged. "Save your strength for keeping your people safe and fed until we reach the fall hunting camp. We have lost too many hunters already."

But the loss was too great, and the people did not know that Broud's raid had been provoked. Men began to yell again. "Today I smelled a campfire in the woods! Your demon might be stalking us now! He might have more with him! I say we at least search the area! We must be sure that we will not be ambushed as we pack up our camp!"

Kyani spun on her heel. She needed to hear no more. She knew she would be missed-she might even be followed-but she had to warn the man before Drakav and his brothers slaughtered him, and all because of a fire that she in her foolishness had lit. With her doeskin dress hiked about her knees, Kyani raced through the forest, rushing down on him as he was shaving his beard off with the obsidian knife, appreciating its fine blade.

"Come, come!" she pleaded, dousing the fire clumsily with water. "They are coming to kill you! You have to stand up!" She grabbed his hands and pulled, and he was so terribly heavy, and so injured. "Please!"

Broud dropped the young woman's hands. It was no great leap to understand that she had been followed, that he had attacked her people and eluded them in the forest, and now they were coming to finish him. Incredibly, she seemed to want him to run! Even walking would be beyond him now. But Broud would not die sitting down, and so as the flesh in his leg tore and pulled and burned, Broud pushed himself up. He tightened his grasp around the knife, glad that he had practiced with it when she was gone, tested it, discovered how best he might kill with it.

"No!" she cried, horrified. He would be dead before Drakav even got close enough to be cut! "Come, run!" In desperation, she cried out his word for _feet_ and stomped hers, then grabbed his hand again and pulled. They had to get away from the campfire, and they had to do it without leaving so much sign that Drakav and his hunters would follow them. It would be impossible, but if they could cross the stream and head deeper into the forest…

_She's can't be serious,_ Broud thought. But he would try. He staggered forward five steps before the pain became blinding. He could feel the soft leather bandages soaking with new blood. Kyani, agonized that her patient might be killed, took his arm in hers, her body bidding his to lean against her. Broud knew that the tiny woman couldn't bear him along for a step, let alone an escape. "No," he gestured silently, though he knew she wouldn't understand. His injury burned him now. He could feel pain-driven delirium creeping into the edges of his consciousness. He knew he was finished, he knew he would have a painful death. He knew that his people would be left leaderless, doomed to starvation or worse. But Broud could only hope to make a good, brave end. Clutching the knife in his hands, he stood tall.

"No, please!" Kyani cried, pulling his big hand. "They will kill you!" Why would he not move? Why was he ignoring her now, as if she were a little gnat flittering around a bear? Did he not understand?

And then the worst thing happened. Drakav and his brothers swept out of the woods in their fringed leggings and feather-adorned braids, spears and knives held at ready. Kyani screamed, clinging to Broud's hand. "Drakav, no! Don't do this!"

"Traitor!" Drakav cried angrily. He could not believe that the woman Tarek wanted to mate had betrayed them so terribly! Everyone had seen Kyani bolt from the camp, and the shrewd hunter Drakav had shocked his brothers by insisting they first follow her. The girl hadn't been right since her mate died, but that she could help the animal that had killed Tarek was beyond belief. Drakav did not even consider his own culpability in attacking Broud's clan to begin with. They were beneath him. "Kyani, get away from that animal!"

"No! He is hurt, Drakav! It is not our way to kill an injured man, alone in the forest!"

"He is no man! He killed the man you would mate! He is our enemy! Get away from him, or you will have his blood all over your dress!"

"Drakav, your father would not want you to do this!" Kyani accused, as her heart pumped her into dizziness.

Drakav was finished negotiating with Kyani, daughter of old Gadvin the useless. He motioned to his brothers, and they rushed down the embankment. Broud settled into a ready position, sheltering his injured side, hands up to his enemies, the ten inch black blade a lethal extention of his powerful fists. Broud's nightmare was coming to life, but he had been ready for it since the moment Ayla had invaded his life, so long ago. He was tired of his fear, and ready to face whatever happened at that moment when he used to wake up from those nightmares of her kind, breathing hard in the darkness around Brun's hearth. But then the delicate little woman jumped before him as lightly as a glossy black starling and flashed her own pretty skinning knife, and her men drew back in disgusted shock.

"No!" she cried. "This is not our way! You will have to kill me as well!"

"Move!" Drakav shouted, his blood rushing with throbbing desire to finish the fight. "Or you can die with him!"

Kyani's throat tightened, but she held her weapon up and sheltered Broud, her eyes furious. "You can explain that to my aunt Myriana, Drakav! And then explain it to your father, our leader!"

Drakav pulled his weapon back, flaring at the traitor of a girl before him. He was caught. Furiously he spat, "Then you go on with him! He killed your mate-to-be, let him take you!"

"Drakav-" Kieran, the mate of Ilona cut in, "You can't do that. Think of what would happen to her!"

"No, let her go! I will be leader next, I don't need any tainted woman in my band! Perhaps she carries his child already! Pull a weapon on me, to defend this animal! Go with him, or I will kill you myself!"

Kyani couldn't breathe. She had never meant for this to happen! How could Drakav think-? She had only wanted the awful fighting to stop! He couldn't really drive her away like this, could he? "Kieran!" Kyani cried, hoping that her friend's mate would stand her friend.

"Don't speak to him! He knows you are polluted by that animal! And he will be my third-in-command when I am leader, he will do what is best for his people! Go! Take him and go! Hurry, before I change my mind and kill you both."

Kyani looked up at the man of the old earth, who stood with a ready knife over her shoulder. He understood none of this, only that these men had weapons drawn on him. But when he looked down at her, his blood rushed even harder. "Come," Kyani murmured, keeping her knife in one hand as she pulled on Broud's arm lightly. He would not come away with her for a long while, not even after he comprehended that they were being released. He would not turn his back on these men, not once during the agonizing walk away. He would not turn his back until they were well clear of the men and their obsidian and bone weapons, and even then he listened to hear the Others following him. But they never did.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

At first, Broud and Kyani walked without destination, their adrenaline fueling their flight from the hunters of Kyani's band. The thick forest opened up to a rising plain so full of grasshoppers that they couldn't set a foot down without stirring up hundreds. The tall grasses swayed softly in the warm late summer wind, carrying the fresh, enticing scents of wildflowers. They walked uphill under a hard sun, anxious to get away from those who wanted to kill them. Yet as the day wore on, and his heart's pounding slowed, Broud became aware once more of the blood streaming down his thigh. And then the ache set in, maddening, tearing; a fiery pain that made his head throb hideously. But Broud had been fiercely competitive since his childhood, and he didn't want to be the first to stop. Finally, however, the pain became too great. A cry of agony and shame tore from his lips and he fell back into the rough carpet of grass. He gasped for his breath. His lips sneered in a violent grimace as he pulled his wrap aside and saw that the soft leather bandages were soaked through and his leg looked as if it had been painted in ochre. The blood loss alone was enough to endanger his life. The trail of rich, metallic-scented blood would surely lure in eager predators. He looked up to the girl, knowing himself again to be in her hands. He hated that, to be at the mercy of a woman, but there was nothing for it. But to his complete horror, the tiny youthful woman who had wielded her weapon so capably, so fiercely in defense of Broud's life, was utterly stricken. Her wide violet eyes were hollow and haunted and her face was washed with tears. Her pale ivory skin had gone deathly pale and her full ruddy lips quivered like a child's. Broud's first thought was that they were doomed for certain. The girl had acted impulsively, without thought of the consequences. Broud had not realized that for all their long walk, each step had carried the young woman deeper into despair and terror.

She thinks she is dead, Broud decided. He hadn't comprehended the words spoken by the men of the Others, but he had understood the harshness and the finality in their tone. He had spoken the same once before, to Ayla.

But this tiny black-haired woman of the Others was very much alive. Her small chest heaved with her sorrow, her frightened, rapid breath. He could even smell her warm scent, a fine earthy sweat mixed with the sweetness of lavender and the blackberries she loved. Broud studied her hard. Perhaps she was a brave girl, allowed to use weapons, but she was still a female. A female alone, cast off by her people, and she was not thinking of her own survival but rather her misery and fear. Unless Broud wanted to die here on this rising steppe, picked off by some animal or through a slow, cruel death by thirst, he would have to take some sort of command now. In his experience-saving with Ayla-it was a man's command that most comforted a frightened woman. He would have to shake her out of her despair. A moon prior he would simply have smacked the sense back into her, stunned her out of her mental trap; instead, he extended his hand to her.

She stared at him with those big twilight eyes, and Broud thought she might turn and run. He was the source of her misery. Could she flee him, and beg her people for mercy? Would she defy the tall man in the woods who had commanded her off? Ayla had been defiant. Ayla would likely have left him and ran home to curry the favor of anyone who would give it. Broud's lips parted as he breathed over his pain. He wanted nothing more than to lie back and sleep, even as he knew it would be a sleep that led to death. But he sat still, his pain and blood loss dizzying and unbearable as he held his arm out to her in a gesture that needed no translation. Yet the girl stood shaking, perched on her toes like a skittish doe ready to dash away.

And then she collapsed beside him, and covered her face with her hands. Her sobs were soft and gentle, a breathy keening that spoke of her fear and her loss. He wondered who she had left behind, now that she must walk in death until her body followed her spirit into the next world. _But she is not dead! Her people haven't the power to do that! They do not know the ways of the spirits. _Broud gently pulled her hands down, and then he clasped his own hands on her face, one big hand cupping each fragile cheek. She gasped in fear as he told her, "You are alive still! You're not dead, woman, you are alive!"

But, he thought, you will be dead if you don't snap out of this misery! You and I both, and I cannot abide that. If I die, then all my people die. My mother dies; our young medicine woman, Vorn's mate, who I have made a widow and must now be under my protection! Oga's sons! If only I could make her understand!

Kyani cried desperately as the man held her, but she let him touch her. She let him stroke her cheeks, feeling the callouses on his strong hands. Her cries turned to little gasping sobs, softening in intensity, as he looked so deeply into her eyes, his own full of beseeching. She gave a little cry of alarm as he ran his thumb over her lips, parting them, brushing the rounded line where her full lower lip became the wet sensitive inside of her mouth. His hands coursed down her neck-softly, without any threat-and over the swelling of her chest, where one hand stopped directly over her pounding heart. Half-way between terror that he would now rape her, a ridiculous thought given his condition, and gratitude for the comfort of his touch, Kyani stopped crying. She fell back on her haunches and shook her head, asking aloud, "What shall we do? Where will we go? What will become of me?"

Broud sat in silence, listening to the soft rolling pattern of her speech. She seemed to be comforting herself with her words, and he let his hope rise. The girl was gathering her strength. She had felt his living touch and known herself to be alive; surely now she would figure out how to remain in this world. But to be sure, he would give her orders to follow. He caught her hand and used his other to gesture to his mouth, pantomiming the act of eating and drinking. His leg was wretchedly sore now, and stiffening quickly. He could not go on, at least not today. They would need a fire. The weather was fair, quite dry, and Broud was a hunter who did not fear sleeping under the open sky with only one other person. But they would need fire to ward off the wolves that would certainly creep up from the forest once night fell. Relief rushed through him as the girl stood up and set her hands on her hips, surveying the open steppe. The forest they had emerged from was very far behind them now; they had climbed high in their flight from Drakav and his men, and there would be no going back for food or water or wood. Yet Kyani and Broud both had spotted a waterfall some ways in the distance, rushing down near to the path they had beaten up the hill. There would be a stream close by, and likely good edible plants growing along it. Kyani thought she would look for a stick, so that she might fashion a gaff with her sharp knife. Before her father's infirmity had completely robbed him of productivity, he had taught her well enough to catch the fish that afterwards made up his dinner. The thought of her father produced a wave of sorrow so powerful it nearly knocked Kyani backwards. She gave a little moan as she wondered who would feed him now, and as she thought of Drakav pouring poisonous lies into her father's ears, making him ashamed of his only child. But she could feel the man's eyes on her. She looked over her shoulders as a hard wind came, blowing her silky black curls away from her small oval face. She could see the heavy apple in the man's throat hammer up and down as he gazed on her. He is counting on me, she thought. I cannot think of Father, or any of them. I have to find food. I might not find a stick to catch fish, but we will need water. I still have my water skin, and in the pouch at my waist I have my knife and my fire-starters. I can find dried scat to burn. I know what plants and flowers can make a good salad. Maybe I can even find bushes with berries; they grow this high up. Yes, I can provide something for us. And I will have to tend to his leg. He is relying on me (like Father once did, if I could think of it) and I cannot let him down.

But Broud was no longer thinking of food, or even of survival, as he watched Kyani walk away. He was watching her long ropes of shining black hair dancing in the wind. He was watching the subtle roll of her slim hips as she passed gracefully through the tall grass. He no longer cared that she was Other, that he had once despised a slim hipped, long-legged woman with a similar confidence and melody to her gait. Broud knew for certain that he wanted this girl; even in his weakened state, he could feel desire pumping hard into his blood, an aching desire that demanded relief and knew no refusal. And more, Broud knew that no matter if _she_ knew it or not, in leaving her people to journey with him, this deceptively fragile little woman belonged to him now.

* * *

><p>"Are you a coward, Kieran? If we go now, we can follow them all the way to that monster's band! We can kill them all, so that the demons can never attack us again! Let us avenge our fallen brothers!"<p>

As Drakav spoke, the hot-blooded young warriors raised their spears in the air and cried out in approval. They were like demons themselves, a blazing fire before them twisting their shadows into angry spirits that danced on the pale dome skin shelters of their band.

In the darkness, Sara and Ilona looked at each other in horror. They knew what had happened, but they didn't believe it. Their friend, their youthful kinswoman, had been mourning her dead mate since last winter, when he died just before the earthquake struck. She had not been consorting with a man of the Old Ones! Drakav was a liar. Kyani had not caused Tarek's death, but now Drakav would use this lie as an excuse to unleash his violent spirit. Sara and Ilona had no doubt that he would kill Kyani, if she was not dead already! The two young women slipped back into the shadows and made for the leader's tent, where they found the strong old hunter in discussion with the medicine woman.

Their leader, Kantak, was an aging man who had brought his people across the length of Ice Age Europe, following the great migratory bands of giant prehistoric beasts. He was a wise man, a fierce and brave man, a hunter of legendary repute whose deeds echoed through the stories at the summer gatherings. But he was growing old now. The arthritis in his joints kept him from joining the hunts, he had not led his band to the summer gatherings in two years, and he knew the day was fast approaching when he would have to hand over leadership to his son Drakav. When the two young women fell upon him in terror, pleading for him to turn his son back from his violent course, Kantak's remaining teeth ground together in dismay. He looked to Myriana, who instantly read the anxiety in the leader's face.

Their band was now made up of twenty five souls. Five were old people, who could do little more than tend the seven children and perform other chores around the camp. Tarek and three other hunters were forever lost, and Kantak did not entirely believe his son's story that they had been set upon by the Old Ones while following a herd of ibex towards the steppe. His son was too fierce, too war-like. There were eight women of breeding age, now seven if Kyani had truly run off, which Kantak also did not believe. The young woman had been so devoted to her father that her mate had moved into her shelter rather than building a new one, so that Kyani might cook and care for both men. She would not leave her ailing father for this twisted lust that Drakav spoke of, and as far as he knew, the Old Ones were not capable of romantic love as the People were. Because of this fight with the creatures that seemed only half-human, there were now five hunters in their prime, and one was almost sure to die. Two moons ago there had been nine. Until the three young boys of the band came of age, it would be difficult for the hunters to bring down the large game that they favored for their fall hunts. They were set to travel on when the moon was new again, in hopes of reaching the mammoth ranges to the north-west by the turn of the weather. Not only was it far too risky to stalk the Old Ones, there was no time left to do it.

"You must forbid them this folly," Myriana said quietly, laying her hand on Kantak's sinewy arm.

Kantak nodded gravely; but by the time they reached the meeting place, the group around the leader's son had swelled. His mate Silania and her three sisters were shouting the young hunters on. The older people, who remembered the first doomed meeting between the two races of men, were nodding in approbation. Drakav was ranting about the threat posed to all the bands who were given the right by the Great Mother to range freely over her earth, and even the older children were cheering him. Kantak's heart sank. Although he had the final say, the wise old man preferred to rule by consensus among his people. Young hunters were always hot for a fight, but this time even the women were hungry for revenge.

The old leader raised his hand, and was dismayed to see that it took several long moments for his people to fall silent. "Children of the Great Mother!" he called, hearing his once powerful voice quavering under the ravages of age. "We are but strangers in this land, having followed the wooly rhinoceros this spring into an unknown place. My son Drakav has done battle with men of the Old Ones, and we have suffered a great loss for it. Three hunters are dead, and Greigan is hanging on the edge of the spirit world even now. The hunting has been poor this summer. We have not seen the aurochs or the giant deer for many days now. It is almost time to move north to seek the Great Mammoth, without whose sustenance we cannot survive the long cold winter. We must grieve for our dead, but that is all. When the new moon comes, we must move on, leaving this foreign place behind."

"And they will follow us, Father!" Drakav shouted. He was flanked not only by Kieran and the two brothers, but also his mate and the women who looked to her as the woman of the future leader. It was not a surprise that the younger adults of the band were joined in opinion; for several moons now, as the leader's health declined, the younger adults began to look to their future and curry favor with the up and coming leader. The older adults looked between the two men, the old leader and his strong young son. Drakav's lips curved in a slight smile as he saw this. He took his opportunity. "These demons live like the worst of beasts! They beat their women, they eat human flesh! Can anyone doubt that they mean to destroy us? That they mean to rape our women and sacrifice our children to their beast-god? Father! Do you mean for us to slink off, leaving such monsters to chase and slaughter us? You have led us into their territory! Will you now forbid us to protect ourselves? It is our duty as Children of the Great Mother, as the People, to protect our own!"

A great cry of approval told the old, tired leader that he was defeated. His slumped shoulders and deep sigh were visible to all the people, but they took it as weakness rather than disappointment. They began to shout out for Drakav, encouraging him to chase and kill the Old Ones who were not human, who meant them such wicked harm.

Sara and Ilona turned to each other, agonized.

"Maybe he will bring Kyani back," Sara said hopefully, her voice tinged with despair. Her mother had helped to raise Kyani, when Kyani's mother had died with childbirth fever days after the violet-eyed girl was born. They were more like sisters than cousins. "If Drakav is right about the demon people, what will become of her? Look what they did to your brother!"

Ilona knew better. Jaw clenched, she shook her head. "Drakav hates her. He thinks she has given herself to the man they want to kill. You… You don't know. My mate told me…"

"What?" Sara asked anxiously. "What did Kieran tell you?"

Ilona took her friend's hands. "Drakav wanted to mate with her, but her father said she wouldn't have him! Gadvin wouldn't even speak to Kyani about it. It was right after her mate died; Drakav was told to wait. When Tarek spoke up for her this spring, Drakav was angry, but I've never seen him like this. My mate thinks he will kill her when he finds her. He calls her polluted; he cannot hear her name without turning red and shouting. We have to stop them!"

"Won't Kantak refuse to let them go? Won't Myriana step in for her niece?"

Ilona shook her head fiercely. "You know as well as I do: the medicine woman concerns herself with healing, and the spirit world. She will speak to the leader, but she will do no more. She must maintain her neutrality in band quarrels, so that all who need her for healing might feel safe in her care. Let us see what the leader will do."

But there would be no help from the old man. The leader was defeated by his own people, who cheered his son Drakav and shuddered at Drakav's descriptions of the Clan. "I can see that the Children of the Earth are agreed on this," he said with a heavy heart. "Two men will seek the trail of this man of the Old Ones, and they will return when they have found the location of our enemy's camp. Then we will decide what to do."

"We will set out in the morning!" Drakav cried, bolstered by cheers from the band. Before Kantak could name the scouts Drakav said, "It will be me… and Kieran. We will find the nest of these vermin, as well as that befouled traitor Kyani who caused the death of our hunters! And when we do find these creatures, then we shall plan an attack that will end them forever!"

Sara turned to Ilona, her face ravaged with grief. "We cannot let this happen! Oh, Ilona, what can we do? We must stop him!"

The heavily pregnant young woman narrowed her eyes in thought, but said nothing.

* * *

><p>It was still dark when Broud jolted awake. The moon was low in the western sky, and the fire was but a glowing pile of embers. Anxiously, he looked over to where the girl slept, curled up in her travel-stained doeskin dress. The peaceful rhythm of her breath wasn't loud enough to wake him. Broud's sense of disquiet grew exponentially, raising gooseflesh on his arms. He reached for the clever spear the girl had fashioned from the long stick she had miraculously found on the steppe, a thong-like cutting of her dress, and her skinning knife. Broud looked about in the darkness, his hunter's eyes adjusting quickly. There was nothing to see. He listened hard, but heard only the breathing of the girl. Still, something had woken him.<p>

With the bottom of the makeshift spear, Broud poked at the fire's embers. Firefly-like sparks rose up to the cloudless black sky, mimicking the millions of stars swirling overhead. He scanned the distance for the tell-tale glow of predators' eyes, but the steppe was empty. The urge to look over his shoulder again and again was compulsive and unstoppable, and even though all seemed clear, his heart began to hammer. _Something's out there,_ he thought. The quiet, terrifying word whispered through his mind like a fine wind of death: _spirits._

Broud had a horror of spirits. He was an earthy man, a man of the cold steppes, of the boreal forest, a man of soil and rocks, flesh and blood. The invisible destructive forces that could be drawn up by merely thinking of them were nightmarish to the young Clan leader. They could not be killed with a spear or banished with a command, and out here on the lonely black steppe, Broud sensed them all around, hovering just beyond the glow of the small fire. He had summoned them to death curse Ayla, and they had destroyed his Clan's home just after. The awful feeling that they were now coming for him reduced the powerful hunter to a frightened boy.

_This man only wanted to keep Your ways, _he beseeched the spirits with quick, silent gestures. _I had to curse Ayla with death! Even raised by Iza, she was incapable of honoring Your laws! Look what her people have done to us! But once I cursed her, You sent the earthquake that killed Creb and made us homeless, at the mercy of the elements and the Others. Why? What do You want from me? I followed Your laws, even as Brun broke them! If I displeased You, show me the way! What do you want from me!_

The spirits mocked him with their refusal to answer. In the menacing silence, Broud, who rarely prayed, begged Ursus and his wooly rhinoceros totem to drive back the ancient spirits he felt all around him. Broud could feel the blood on his hands: Creb's blood, Oga's blood, Brun's blood… Even _hers._ The mere thought of Ayla, a woman who had belittled him at every chance, was enough to make his blood hot with fury. Broud closed his eyes, terrified that the spirits were now rushing towards him, cackling and screaming silent screams of vengeance and hatred. His throat was as dry as ice, his heart was ready to explode. He had no weapons to protect himself from Their fury.

A slight, warm touch on his shoulder made him jump in horror. Had he not been trained so well as a hunter, Broud would have screamed in fear. He opened his eyes and turned to face his death, but it was only her, the young violet-eyed woman, a curious and compassionate expression on her face. Broud moaned softly, relief pouring over him. The sight of the girl drew him immediately back down to earth, the element of his comfort. Like a child, he longed to put his head in her lap and let her stroke his hair as Ebra once did. But that was so very long ago, before his mother's affection was frozen by her son's imperious, proud ways and his scornful, quick temper. Broud returned to himself quickly, ashamed to let this girl see his fear.

"Sleep," she said softly. She knew several of his words and gestures now, and she had learned that it was easier for her to speak to him in his language than for him to mangle hers.

Broud was so grateful that the spirits had not attacked him that he was oblivious to the fact that she seemed to tell him what to do, a deeply punishable offense for a woman. But as his wild fear quieted, he remembered that something had woken him. He shook his head and told her, "Something's out there." She could not follow him entirely, only the gesture for 'out there'. He clutched the spear she had made and motioned again to the vast blackness beyond their fire. A fearful look crossed Kyani's face, and she, too, looked to the steppe.

"_You_ sleep," Broud said. "I'll watch over you."

Kyani understood most of this. She nodded, and lay down, this time close to his strong legs. When she had laid down so close to him in the beginning of the night, Broud had considered relieving the need that grew more aching by the day. But he had not, and now his mind was fully occupied with an even more pressing need: to protect them, as best he could, from whatever he felt stalking them in the night.

By day, they trekked higher with the rising land. Broud was a quick healer, and strong enough in character to ignore what pain he felt. He was pleased to see that the girl was knowledgeable about the flora of the region, which came closer and closer to his old cave by the mile. Kyani devised numerous comforting remedies for his wound, and he was mending well. They ate poorly, though, mostly from the edible roots and plants Kyani gathered. Broud thought that the weather was unseasonably hot for the short Pleistocene summer. The grasses of the steppe baked golden and then dried out in the sweltering heat, and the sky was overcast with low clouds that rumbled but never broke to bring relief. Broud could not shake the sense that they were being followed, and he led Kyani on a meandering path meant to frustrate whatever it was tracking them. Broud began to believe that it was not spirits at all, but that hate-filled man of the Others who had death cursed Kyani. As the steppe began to break up and rise into low peaks, Broud often crawled up to the top of a hill on his belly and searched the land as far as he could see. But he never saw the Others.

The land rose ever higher. After ten days of travel they found another stream, one that ran down out of the rocky hills. They replenished their water, which had been running perilously low, and the girl happily but modestly washed her body and her long black hair, leaving her dress on. She was growingly aware of the man's hot eyes on her. As his health improved, Kyani became more and more certain that he desired her, and the thought was frightening. She had learned that he was not much different than her own people, a far cry from the demons or animals she was led to believe the Old Ones were. He was powerfully strong and possessed of a wild, primitive beauty, especially when the wind caught his earth-colored curls and whipped them back from his heavy, angular face. He was full of a highly attractive confidence and male potency that suggested rich fertility and an ability to provide well for a family. But he was still _other, _and more, strictly physically, he was an enormous, thickly built man. For that reason alone, the thought of intimacy with him was terrifying. Kyani could not bear to think too long on what her life would be now that she was cast off from her band. She had not wanted to have a mate so soon after her own mate's death, but could she really go through life with no one to love? No man, no children, no family? These thoughts always led her away from her fears of physical intimacy with this man of the Old Ones, and into grief for her father and her people. Thankfully, the daily struggle for survival was such that Kyani was left with little quiet time to ponder such disturbing things, or wonder what her future would be. She was not entirely sure she _had_ a future at all.

As they began to walk through gulches bound in by ever rising mountains, they always stayed near the stream and sometimes walked through it to wash away the scent and sign of their trail. But then, early one morning, Broud's low but constant anxiety that they were being followed turned into a sharp foreboding. Broud put his hand out to stop Kyani. He pressed his fingers to his lips, making the sign for _be silent._ A hard clap of thunder boomed over the mountains as Broud motioned Kyani on, up away from the water and towards a clutch of thirsty, straggly birch trees. Their eyes scanned the jagged horizon, Kyani's with a nameless fear and Broud's with steady searching. He was sure that the Others were about to rush out of wherever they were hiding, and his fingers tightened on the spear. His other hand felt for the obsidian dagger at his side.

"Stay," he gestured to Kyani. He crept further up the low peak to get a better view. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. His nostrils flared at the rush of a rancid, ammonia-like scent blowing in the sudden gust of wind. Just as he realized what was stalking them, Kyani let out an ear-shattering scream. She had come face to face with a cave lion, and the beast was ready to kill.

* * *

><p>"I can't, Ilona, I can't do it!" Sara shook her head in fear. The older girl's hands clutched her shoulders tightly, her blue eyes sharp as she held Sara in her grasp. "I can't, Ilona! It would be wrong! It would put the entire band in danger! We're already low on food-"<p>

"Hush!" Ilona hissed, shaking Sara roughly. Ilona's piercing pale gaze flickered around the interior of her tent, constructed of mammoth skins draped over a structure of tusks and bones that were easy to carry on the band's migrations. Ilona's shelter was decorated with rich furs and cloths dyed in red ochre and precious deep purple pigment crushed from the soft bodies of mollusks from the shores of the Great Southern Sea. Ilona narrowed her eyes first, then looked beseechingly at the impressionable younger girl. "We won't be in any danger, you see, because the hunters will provide. Kieran told me that there was a herd of smaller deer deeper into the forest, he saw them when they were… when my brother was injured. And besides, each shelter has its own small store of roots and vegetables, and jerky. We'd only be making sure that the hunters won't be able to go after Kyani. We'd only be destroying the emergency stores, so that we'd have to leave soon to seek the mammoths. And besides: if we don't do this, Kyani will surely die a horrible death."

Ilona's heart thumped as she saw Sara debating herself. She _had_ to make sure the hunters didn't follow Kyani, and it wasn't just to save the young woman's life. Ilona wasn't so sure that Drakav wouldn't drag Kyani back, and Ilona wanted her gone. Ilona _did_ love her kinswoman, but the problem was, so many others did as well. Not just Drakav, who Kyani had never admired. Ilona's own mate Kieran had eyes for the slender, dark haired beauty. Ilona, who had come to womanhood first, had been accustomed to being considered the most beautiful woman in the band. But in the past few years, word of Kyani's dark hair, ivory skin, violet eyes, and delicate beauty had even reached the farthest bands of the People. And since Kyani had become a woman last winter, Ilona was certain that Kieran's eyes followed Kyani around the camp. Though Kyani was not directly responsible for the death of Tarek and the others, her beauty was too dangerous. It would be better for all, Ilona thought, if Kyani was simply gone. And there was no other way to do it. "Think of Kyani, Sara," Ilona prompted. "She _needs_ us."

Sara furrowed her brow. "I know… But you say, _us, we._ I am afraid. Why don't you do this yourself? I can help you, but surely… It's _your_ plan, after all…"

Ilona stretched her arms out from her pregnant belly. "Look at me! How could I do it? I could hardly run away once the fire was set! I would be caught, and then what? They might even have time to smother the fire. No Sara, you have to do it. There are woven baskets of mammoth grease in the storage tent, and it's been so dry lately that the fire will catch fast once it is lit. You have to do this Sara. You're our only hope. For Kyani, Sara."

Frightened, the younger girl nodded. "For Kyani," she repeated softly, and then she backed out of the shelter, and went off to set fire to the band's stores of food.

* * *

><p>Kyani was frozen in terror as the snarling beast approached her. The cave lion let out a powerful roar that melted her bones. She was going to die, and horribly.<p>

At that moment, Broud raced down the mountain. He felt no pain in his injured thigh. He felt no fear as he locked his gaze on the beast that stood six feet high at the shoulder and nine feel from snout to rump. With the makeshift spear held tight in his fist, Broud charged the lion. The male cave lion was at the height of his power and ability, and he whirled on this new opponent, dropping down on his haunches as he prepared to spring onto Broud. In a thought that was more instinct than conscious, Broud knew that the girl's slender skinning knife would not be enough to bring the enormous lion down. Nonetheless, he drove the weapon at the beast with all his strength and plunged it deep into the bottom of the lion's massive chest. The staff cracked from the force of Broud's thrust checked by the thick hide of the cave lion. A rush of blood poured over the slim knife, which was buried close to the animals' heart-but not close enough.

In this one moment, the near 600,000 long years of Clan adaptation gave the leader a powerful advantage over any man of the Others. His brain had not even to pause as it instantly catalogued the tactics for killing such a beast. Almost before Broud had decided upon a course, he ducked the huge lethal paw of the swinging cave lion and grabbed its scraggly brown mane. With a fistful of the coarse hair in his hand, Broud used the mighty muscles of his lower body to launch himself onto the creature's back.

But though he felt no pain, his injured leg was severely weakened. He hadn't landed where he wanted to, and he couldn't reach around and slit the cave lion's throat. With Kyani's obsidian dagger, he stabbed at the top of the beast's neck, startled for one moment when the instrument slipped through the lion's tough hide like Broud was cutting through fat. Blood spurted out, spraying Broud's face and chest; but with the animal swinging around violently Broud had missed the spinal column. The lion twisted its body about, trying to bite Broud's legs. As he scrabbled away from the crushing jaws of the cave lion, the creature swung its body so mightily that Broud was dislodged and thrown to the hard, rocky ground.

He was stunned. The badly bleeding beast was also dizzy with pain and blood loss. The broken spear projected from its red-soaked chest. For a moment, neither man nor animal moved; rather, they eyed each other with blunted, exhausted fury.

The girl's screams again tore through the air. "Get up, get up!" Kyani cried in her own tongue, desperate for him to understand her. "Great Mother, don't let him _die!"_

Broud was in terrible danger, his body beaten and torn, his weapons inadequate for the task. But in the depths of his being, where no pain or weakness could touch, he was indignant that the spear had been too weak to penetrate its mark. He was furious that his wounded leg had sabatogued his attempt on the lion's throat. His eyes saw everything through a screen of blood red, his lips curled up in pure hatred. He would not let this beast triumph over him because of such a stupid thing as unfair odds. Slowly, he drew himself up as best he could, and then he crouched low.

The cave lion was not about to let this sharp clawed two-legged creature jump on its back again. It, too, summoned its last bit of strength and launched itself through the air, covering the distance of the battle field in one arching leap. At that moment Broud rushed forward so that the lion overshot him, and then he drove the obsidian blade straight up through the belly and into the lungs of the beast.

Screaming with rage and pain, he cave lion staggered a few more paces before the blood rushing into its lungs overwhelmed it. And then it dropped to the ground, never to hunt again.

For a moment, everything was frozen. No birds called from the birch trees. The air did not stir. Broud stood still, arms down, bloody palms turned upwards. Kyani thought he was praying. She too was frozen, her shock and fear turning first to disbelief; and then a rush of pure elation and gratitude overwhelmed her. She ran at Broud and leapt up onto him, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing for joy into his sweat and blood soaked hair.

For a moment, Broud didn't understand. A charging cave lion he could comprehend, but a tiny woman leaping against his chest and burying her face in his neck, her entire body trembling, was so new to him that he was helpless against it. The man he had become growled internally of her insolence. The boy that he had been wanted to melt into the first bit of freely given affection he had felt in years. But overriding all of his conflicted emotions was the fact that he had just saved her life. The adrenaline was still coursing through his blood, and because he was still set on saving her, he wrapped his arms around her and clutched her to him. Kyani drew her face back and met his eyes. "Thank you, thank you…" she gasped, the adoration bleeding from her bright violet eyes.

It was too much for him. Broud nodded gruffly and set the girl down, his mind reeling. His body was already reacting to a woman's touch, and he turned away from her and to the task at hand. Cautiously, he approached the dead cave lion. When he heard the girl coming up behind him, he threw his hand up in a command for her to stay in place. He paced around the creature, kicking at its hips. Once satisfied that the cave lion was truly dead, he knelt down at its side, pausing a moment to run his hand over the faintly striped tawny flank. The joy of a successful hunt warmed his blood as he whispered his thanks to his totem, the wooly rhinoceros, who had doubtlessly given him the strength to kill a cave lion alone. _If only Brun was here to see! _The thought brought a twinge of grief and he banished it. Broud pulled the bone handled blade from the lion's belly, and warm blood gurgled out onto the parched and rocky soil. Easily-what a fine weapon this dagger was!-he slit the lion from sternum to groin. Though there were no other hunters to share with, he plunged his hand into the hot body of the beast to seek out its liver. He bit into the warm, rich raw meat and savored the moment when he took the cave lion's strength into his own body. The ritual complete, he leaned back on his haunches and wondered what he would do with the body.

His first thoughts were of the meat he had been missing in his diet. Half-starved on plants and grasses, he wanted to consume the entire animal on the spot. But that was not the way. The lion would have to be butchered properly. Only then did his thoughts return to the girl. Looking over his shoulder, he saw her standing a respectful distance back, her fragile white hands clasped eagerly. If he was accustomed to smiling he would have done; instead, he motioned her over. Surely she would know what to do?

Kyani rushed to his side. Never had she seen a hunter of such prowess, such fearlessness, such agility. In a time when life was short and harsh, this trait was the most powerfully attractive one a man could possess, and already, Kyani thought that there were none to rival this man. She knelt at his side, gazing at him with bright eyes as she held her hand tentatively over Broud's kill. Though slightly discomfited by her direct gaze, Broud was thrilled by her obvious adoration. He nodded. It was safe for her to touch.

As the girl ran her slender fingers over the animal's powerful body, Broud's heart flipped into his stomach. He had long been without a woman, and never had he wanted one so badly. The rush of adrenaline from the deadly hunt turned most naturally into a fierce desire to relive his throbbing need. He even reached for her, thinking to pin her down beside the lion and spend himself inside her until he fell down dead from it. When she looked back at him, he clenched his hands into fists. She was caressing the hide, and then she pantomimed the cut of a cloak with her fingers. She gestured to Broud, thinking the pelt of the cave lion would make a fine and fitting garment for the brave man. She wanted to make it for him, to show her gratitude.

His thoughts gummed up with desire, he didn't understand right away. A thought rushed through his mind: _She adores me. She is mine, completely. I should take her here and now, she would be glad for it._

But then, like an aftershock, he realized what she was saying. This girl wanted to dress him in the magnificent hide of a cave lion, and all at once the thing that had been in the depths of his subconscious during the battle shot through his body like a hurled spear of the Others: Cave lion, cave lion… Ayla! The cave lion, right or wrong, was _her_ totem. "No," he told Kyani, a gesture he had taught her. He couldn't wear the hide of her totem animal, not after all the misery their conflict had caused. And the idea of returning to his Clan wearing Ayla's totem was absolutely unbearable. Broud knew that their circuitous journey would soon bring them to the golden steppes to the east of his destroyed cave. He was almost home; already they were in lands that he had often ranged with the other hunters.

This led to another disturbing thought, one he had avoided on the journey. What would he do with the girl? He could not bear to abandon her; she was tiny, helpless almost. Her sheer terror when faced with the cave lion was what had triggered his powerful urge to kill the beast, what had added to his strength and overcome his injury. But how could he bring her home? When he had gone off to kill the Others, how could he bring one of their women home?

Kyani flushed under the man's puzzled gaze, realizing that of course they could not tan the hide, they had not the equipment to do it. It was a shame, for sure, but it would have to be left behind. But at least they could enjoy a good meal. She made a simple gesture to indicate that she would butcher the meat, women's work in her band. She smiled, and made his gesture for "Eat."

Broud nodded. He was deeply curious to see how the fragile girl could hack up a cave lion, what portions she would select to cook, whether she would season it with the herbs she had tucked into her pouch of fire starters, and what she would think to leave behind. Though it was not technically a man's job, Broud pointed to himself and said, "Fire." He would gather the wood. He was near swooning with desire bolstered by the rush of a victorious kill. But with the ghost of Ayla looming so close by, he was completely bound; he could not simply take this girl who was becoming such a joy to him. _And why not, Broud? Why not? Are you not a man? Do you not deserve this? _He shook his head powerfully, and pushed himself up. "Good," he said, gesturing to the girl who picked the weapon up from the ground where Broud had left it. That sight alone was bewildering to him, but he reasoned that the thing was hers anyway. _Besides, she is not Clan. It is not a crime for her, obviously. But when I bring her to my hearth, I will have to teach her Clan ways._

Bring her to his hearth? Broud stumbled off, his head aching. He walked deeper into the thicket of birch, snatching fallen sticks from the ground in irritation. What was it that bothered him so? She was a woman and he was a man, and she was following him, and now he had saved her life and provided her with meat. What more need there be? What more had there ever truly been between men and women?

By Ursus, how she touches me! No Clan woman would have flung herself against a man like that! And certainly, no woman would touch _him_ of all men that way. They would be terrified. Broud was traditional. It wasn't proper, it wasn't right.

But… But still…

Didn't Uba often greet Vorn with delight when he returned from their hunts? Didn't Ovra embrace Goov at times? Did Goov not hold her in return, when another woman fell pregnant while Ovra could not even conceive anymore? Affection was not unknown in the Clan. True, it was a more restrained, more private form of affection, but it was given none the less.

_It is not given to me,_ Broud thought with sudden bitterness. Oh, Oga had idolized him in her childhood, but that had ended when the trials of Broud's early adulthood had made him edgy and quick to cuff. Other women submitted to him when he made the signal for it, and yes, they were always pleased to be selected by him for his status, but there was no more to it than that. Ebra-his own mother, for all she had spoiled him as a baby-kept herself at a humble, respectful distance from the new leader. No, Broud could not think of one woman who had ever clutched herself to him with trembling pleasure, a look of awe and adoration in her eyes.

Except for _her_, he thought. Her sweet scent was all over him, mingled with the blood of the lion. It made him dizzy. This girl of the Others, his sworn enemy, had been a gentle and affectionate companion since the first day they had met. Even her early touches, so full of trepidation, had still been kind and warm. It was something entirely new for Broud, and it was as seductive as the drugs Uba wrung from the pain-relieving herbs near their home. This girl had never seen him in crisis, upstaged by an ugly woman and unable to control himself, the shame of the mate of his mother, the source of misfortune for his entire Clan. This girl, this delicate girl, knew only what the last half a moon had shown her. And it was enough to make her adore him, and desire his closeness. He ought to run back to her now, still hot from his kill, and take her.

But yet… It was the first girl of the Others who leapt into his mind again, unwanted and unbidden. What a rush it had been to have her, big and ugly as she was! It wasn't her looks that had excited him, it was her reaction. She had made him chase her, and Broud was a hunter born. She had screamed and fought and excited him more than any other woman had ever done before. Broud was not the first, nor would he be the last man to be excited by a woman's sharp cries when he was on top of her. Even now, after everything, the thought of it was enough to put fire to his blood.

Only then, it had turned into nothing. As if Broud's own body had been a death curse for the young blonde woman, Ayla had spiraled into a misery the likes of which no Clan man had ever seen before, not even in a woman keening for a lost baby. Her spirit, her will to live, had fled from her. It didn't return until he abandoned Ayla. It was this memory, Broud suddenly understood, that was preventing him from taking this new girl. _Oh, Ursus, if her spirit would die that same way! _Broud couldn't lose her! He couldn't see that warmth in her eyes die out. He couldn't see her beautiful rippling black hair matted with carelessness. He couldn't see her shudder at the mere thought of him. He had hurt Ayla; she had bled far more than Oga did that first time. Maybe these women of the Others didn't like to take a man. Maybe it hurt them too much.

Broud sighed heavily. He couldn't take her. He wanted her too much to ruin her. For the first time in his arrogant, selfish life, the young leader was thinking about the emotions of a female. Disgusted with himself, he shook his head, and set to collecting his firewood.

* * *

><p>The fire caught quickly. From the first sparks it rushed over the baskets and shelter walls smeared with mammoth grease. Sara thought it would have been a slow thing, but in mere moments the fire turned monstrous, rolling and roaring through the storage shelter in an uncontrollable blaze. Panicking, Sara stumbled backwards. She rushed through the maze of shelters, avoiding the eyes of curious onlookers. Soon they had no more need to be curious. The storage shelter exploded in flames before it collapsed, and the members of the band began to scream in horror.<p>

Myriana the medicine woman quickly took control, directing some to use their supplies of water to douse the fire and others to take all the baskets and containers they could find down to the stream to seek more water. Sara stood at the edge of the chaos chewing her fingernails to ragged nubs, desperate to see Ilona. Ilona would surely know what to do. Yet the older woman was nowhere to be found. As the guilty young girl watched in shock and agony, the flames licked up from the collapsed shelter and jumped into the pine trees, which were too dry from the drought-plagued summer, igniting them, scorching them into black skeletons. The fire jumped from one shelter to another, engulfing the band's summer camp along with those who had been sleeping or working in their tents. Ilona's plan had wrought the destruction of her people.

* * *

><p>The meal was delicious. Though the rich meat of predators was rarely eaten, Broud filled his belly until he could hardly breathe, and then he lay back on his arms and watched Kyani with a deep, satisfied pleasure. Not only had she quartered the beast impressively, she was an excellent cook. And she was attentive, too. Years of caring for an infirmed father had bred into her the habit of seeing to her companion's comfort. It was not only habit, nor was it obedience. Kyani knew well that she was admired by many for her fine looks. She had watched another beauty, Siliana, use her attractive appearance to get what she wanted from men, and to serve as an excuse for getting out of work. The men of her band enjoyed the future leader's mate's haughty beauty and indulged her laziness, and Kyani had determined years before that she would be nothing like that unhelpful woman. Kyani was a natural nurturer; she derived a great joy from being a source of comfort for others, and she badly wanted children. It was natural for her to tend to Broud when he was recovering from his injuries, and it was her deep and loving skill that had saved him. During their first true meal, the one he had killed for them, she brought Broud fresh cool water from the stream. She encouraged him to eat to his fill by providing him with the best cuts. She even found some mint for him to chew after he ate, to help with his digestion.<p>

Once they were both full and at their ease, Kyani stretched out like a cat on the dry ground, pillowing her head on her crossed arms and privately watching her hunter through a veil of long black lashes. The battle with the lion followed by the rich, heavy food had made him tired. Though he tried to stay awake, watching the beautiful girl, his eyes were too heavy. Broud fell asleep, and Kyani, satisfied that he was finally comfortable, followed.

As they enjoyed the first full-bellied sleep of their journey, the pale grey clouds overhead thickened and darkened. The sporadic rumbling that had accompanied their journey grew louder and more frequent. Finally, the first drops of rain in nearly two moons plopped heavily to the ground, sending up tiny puffs of dust. As the rain became heavier it sizzled in the fire, it pattered on the eyelids of the two sleepers. Thus disturbed, they came awake together, Broud blinking at the rain as he turned his face up in delight. Kyani leapt up and twirled in the rain, her joy the primitive and animalistic pleasure in water returning to a parched land. She danced and spun, but soon the gentle pelting turned to a downpour. The fire was quickly doused, and Broud grabbed Kyani by the hands. They had to gather up what they could of the driest firewood and the cooked meat. They had to find a shelter. Broud knew of just the place but it was up over another low peak and down towards the steppe. He cradled the precious sticks like a child to keep them dry enough to burn while Kyani took all she could carry of their meat. The rest of the body-left where the fight had taken place and away from their fire- would have to remain behind for the scavengers.

The storm blew in with mighty winds, jagged bolts of lightning, and frightening explosions of thunder. Even the thickening groves of birch trees offered no relief, and the storm tore the dry, drought-sick leaves off their branches. The atmosphere was expelling the built up heat of the summer in one powerful storm. Kyani's joy turned to fear; fear of the lightening, of the crashing thunder, of the cascading torrents of water that obscured the view only feet away. She followed close behind Broud, sensing that his purposeful stride and confident direction meant that he had a shelter in mind. Were they now in his territory? Kyani badly hoped so, not caring who they would meet on their arrival. His people could not be bad, not considering the way this man had treated her!

It was a long, frustrating trek, taking up the rest of the day. By the time they reached the narrow cavern of overhanging limestone, hollowed out by some primordial river long since gone, the rain had slowed and softened but not abated. The sky was dark; another hour of travel and it would have been impossible for them to find their way. Even with Broud's careful clutch, much of the wood was wet. They could only get a very small fire going, and the temperature had dropped sharply. Kyani was shivering. Her teeth clattered together and she was exhausted. After sparking the small fire and laying the wet wood nearby to dry out, she collapsed as close as she dared to its meager warmth. Her hair was dripping and her doeskin-though treated with fat-was a heavy sodden blanket. Worried, Broud knelt down beside her. His own body was far better equipped to handle the cold, and he had never seen anyone shake so hard. He rubbed his hands over her arms while she stared up at him miserably. Finally, he stripped his own wet garment away, placed it carefully by the fire, and settled in behind the girl, encasing her in his arms.

It was a slow relief, encumbered by her wet dress, but eventually Broud's body heat penetrated through Kyani's shivering skin. She sighed once the awful shaking stopped, staring out at the curtain of rain before the darkening sky. They lay in silence as the rain slowed to a stop and the thin, emptied clouds pulled apart to reveal an endless, star-studded sky. Though the true season was still several weeks away, autumn had come to the steppe of the peninsula. The sky was beautiful and the air was crisp, and Kyani, still chilled, nestled back against Broud's powerful body, wet but content.

Did she know what she was doing? Somewhere in the depths of the girl's consciousness, perhaps; she had been mated before, though for a mere two weeks, and to a boy not quite yet a full man. All Kyani understood was that she craved the man she had decided to call hers, her patient, her hunter, her protector. He had warmed her skin and now she wanted him to warm her bones. Perhaps because she had been mated to such an untried boy, she did not expect anything to come of the way she pressed herself back against him, but for Broud it was finally too much.

At first he told himself that she would be better warmed if he got the saturated doeskin off her small body. But he could not lie; neither to her nor to himself. He knew just what he was doing when he slid his hand under the hem of her skirt and over her thigh, and ever so slowly began to push the skirt of her dress up. The girl froze. She didn't even breathe. Broud's heart was hammering away. He bit his lips, trying desperately to call himself back from this folly; but he was too far lost, without a shred of the granite will he would have needed to stop. And when he slipped his hands between her soft thighs and she yielded subtly to his touch, parting her legs just a bit, his heart nearly exploded. He withdrew his hand and pushed her shoulder down to the ground, turning her onto her belly.

Broud pushed her dress up over her backside, his hand caressing the swelling curve of her tight ivory skin. The girl made not so much as a whisper, like a doe gone tharn before a hunter and his spear. Broud could wait no longer. He climbed on top of her, holding his weight on his elbows. Broud moaned quietly at the resistance of her small body. Through the blood swirling and pumping in his ears, he couldn't hear the beginning of a sound breaking out over her lips. He could hardly get himself inside of her, but he let his heavy hips do the work, sinking slowly until his hips were pressed tight against her backside and he was sunk inside her to the hilt. The pleasure was extraordinary, ecstatic. It was only then that her sharp shriek tore through his blissful dream.

It was a tearing pain. An intense, burning pain, worse than her first rites six months back. The cause was not Broud's fault; it was a difference in anatomy. In order to allow them to develop a larger forebrain, Kyani's people bore babies with small, soft, undeveloped skulls that only hardened after the first year of life. For that reason, they were smaller, narrower, while Clan women had wider hips and wider birth canals, and their men were larger. The girl had sensed this from the first moment she had swept his wrap aside to care for his wound; but at the same time, she had grown to desire him; not sexually as much as permanently, as a life-mate, though physically intimacy was surely a great part of that bond. But those thoughts were gone now, replaced by the instant and thoughtless reaction of an animal under attack, a creature subject to a sudden and violent agony. It was fear of this pain combined with the deep and seething hatred of the oppressed that had driven Ayla to lose her joy for life. It was this pain that drove wild and frightened screams from Kyani's lips, no matter how much she had wanted this man for her own.

_No, no, _Broud thought. It was far too late to stop. His climax was building quickly, frantically, and his mind was no longer in control. He pulled back as best he could only to have his body drive back into hers, unable to fight the deep pleasure he had found there. But the fear of losing her worked back into his mind, even in his bliss. He tried to be gentle with her, without knowing how_._ He wrapped his arms tightly around her, imprisoning her softly. His fingers cupped over her lips lightly, an effort to muffle her hard screams. In return she bit down on his hand like a woman might bite a leather thong for relief in childbirth. The sharp pain was a pleasure to Broud, and he groaned at the greater rush of delight. She shuddered beneath him and he was torn between a violent need to hurry his pleasure to the ultimate point, and a desperate need to stop himself from hurting her any more-something he'd never cared about until that moment. Foolishly, Broud pressed his lips to her ear, his curls brushing her tear soaked face. He sang to her in a low voice; he murmured softly, the guttural enchantment he might have spoken to a wounded animal before he dispatched it to the next world. He dug into her belly with slow, deep strokes, finally holding himself back so hard his body shook from it. When his climax finally came it was like that great explosion of thunder that had broken the parched summer skies. His arms gave out and he fell over her, unable to move without sending another unbearably beautiful wave of pleasure through his entire body. He had claimed her, come what may.

Kyani was afraid to move. She did unclamp her eyes to stare through the blur of tears into the dying fire. _Great Mother,_ she thought as she drew little gulping sobs of breath, _is that what it will always be with us?_ No, no, she reasoned desperately. There had been pain with her first mate, but that had eased, both from practice and from his gentle attention to her body. But the difference between the two men… It was like comparing a shallow puddle to a roaring river, a green sapling to a towering oak. The pain did not lessen now that he had withdrawn. She could feel the slick wetness on her thighs, more than what should be from the man's seed. She had torn, she was bleeding. She thought that if she moved her pounded insides would simply slide out. She clung to the song he had sung her, the archaic song she had latched on to, to keep from being driven mad. It's low, haunting melody rang through her head to the grateful exclusion of any other thought.

She cringed when his arms came around her again, eliciting a little groan from her lips. Kyani wondered in horror if he wanted more, and he could all but taste her fear. Broud pulled her back to her side and wrapped her in his arms again, holding her tightly, as if he were trying to keep her spirit from fleeing her body. He cursed himself silently, for being as dumb and reckless as Brun had told him he was. Anxiously, fumblingly, he loosened the ties of the young woman's garment. She was listless in his arms as Broud pulled it off her, half terrified, from all the blood, that he would find her a child beneath the dress, no woman at all. But the lovely, slender lines of her blossoming body took his breath and banished his doubt. Because he feared lying beside her in the same way again-he was ready for her again-Broud very carefully turned the girl in his arms so that her head could rest in the nook of his heavily muscled arm and his hardened chest. He watched her carefully, intensely, frowning as she hid against his chest, shaking. Finally, he swept her lovely mass of dark hair out of her face, curled his fingers around her chin, and lifted her face to his.

Kyani was frightened of what she'd find in his eyes-she expected, from the utterly selfish, painful mating, that the demons she'd seen in his dark gaze on the first day would be back. She found the Clan man looking at her with a deep anxiety, in a terror that he'd broken her. Kyani sighed softly, letting her cheek fall into his hand. He'd not meant to hurt her, then. She had known-after seeing him exposed when caring for his leg-that he likely would hurt her until she was accustomed to him. But how could it be that he was _so_ ignorant of her body?

It would have to be a game of practice between them, a game of patience, of learning each other. Finally understanding this, she looked up at him again-barely, a veiled look under a canopy of black lashes. Broud sighed in relief. She was not gone from him. She was hurt and frightened, and certainly wary of him, but she was not dead. She was not smoldering with hatred, nor emptied of all emotion. They lay still for a long while, until they both could draw a steady breath. Broud's eyes just began to close when he felt her small fingers tracing the double hooks tattooed into his chest. "Totem," he murmured. Now that the fear of her loss was gone, he was drowsy from spent pleasure.

"Totem," she repeated with no understanding, trying to make sense of his word.

He realized sharply how foolish he was. He had taught her a full fifty Clan words and gestures, simple ones, to be sure. But he had never named himself to her, nor asked what she was named. He tilted her little chin back up to him, and then he tapped his chest and murmured, "Broud."

A rich smile warmed her small face, even though her eyes were still shining with tears. She repeated his name softly, perfectly. Broud was astonished by the quickness of her mind, and by the way his own name rolled off her tongue. She whispered it again, as if to herself. Then she returned, "Kyani."

He arched his brows dubiously, and Kyani read the humor in his eyes and laughed aloud, a sweet sound. Broud pulled her tight up in his arms. _Yes, _he thought, _she is lovely, and she is mine._

He would have to teach her Clan ways, of course. In less than a full day of travel, they would be rejoining with his Clan.

"Ki-" he murmured, stroking her hair. "Ani. Ki-ani."

It was not quite right, but it would do.


	3. Chapter 3

Their cave had been destroyed almost a full turn of the seasons ago, yet the Clan had not moved. At first, their leader had been paralyzed by his own inexperience, his fear that he, and not Ayla, had caused the Spirits to destroy their home. Spring had come in quickly, with all the bounty that their home location had provided. With plentiful food and water, Broud had thought to wait until the warmer weather came to move on. The Clan lived in hide shelters and they ate plentiful food, and their young leader had dreaded taking them on a trek with no set destination, ample danger, and no end in sight.

Then the attack came, terrifying a people who had known a peaceful existence for almost as far back as their racial memory spoke of. Brun and Borg were killed, along with Oga, Aba, and Igra. Broud, sputtering with fury and bereft at the loss of his mate and the mate of his mother, had gone off with Vorn and Crug, and had never returned. Many wanted to leave the cursed site, surely a place loaded with evil spirits. But Goov, the young mog-ur, was adamant that they stay. The cold weather would be upon them once more, and many were terrified that their totems had deserted them after so long without a home. Many thought privately that the untried mog-ur was wrong. Many longed for the steady years under Creb's guidance, even if in the end, a shadow of unexplained despair had hung over the ancient sage. But the traditions that bound these people were strong. If Goov came out of his meditation assuring them that their totems had not fled, and that they must stay, then they would stay.

They were also saddled with a medicine woman barely a woman, and suffering from an early pregnancy that showed no signs of being any more fruitful than her last. Uba often got sick as she treated the illnesses and minor injuries of the others; more often than not the young woman had to drag herself from her shelter to fulfill her office. Privately she still mourned for Ayla, not only as a sister, but as a more experienced medicine woman whose quick intelligence rivaled Uba's wealth of memories. She cursed Broud for his folly, even though she knew she should not.

She was not the only one who felt Ayla's loss, but no one spoke of the blonde woman they had raised as Clan before Broud cursed her with death and ran her off. Even Aga, who had not cared for the strange girl until Ayla saved her daughter Ona, missed the young woman born of the Others, but made Clan. Many felt that Ayla had been a sort of talisman for their Clan, a carrier of good fortune. Without her, they had known nothing but hardship.

Still, they fell into a rhythm of life that was not too different than what they had always known. Fortunately, Broud had left three experienced men behind when he set off to wreak his vengeance and never returned. Droog the tool-maker and Grod, Brun's former second in command, were still capable hunters. Zoug was too old to work, but he could share his wisdom. Ebra, Uka, and Aga were the senior women now, and on this day they had set the younger women Ona, Ovra, and Ika to gathering the early apples and nuts thrown down by the heavy storm of the day before. Brac, not yet a man, was forced to take up the work of a man and he did so without a complaint, even as he mourned the loss of his mother and her mate. He spent this day carving heavy spears out of ash wood. Grev and Durc, young boys, were collecting stones from the stream for boiling water, along with kindling for the fire. Ebra and Aga busied themselves curing the hides and stomachs of two deer killed the prior day by Droog and Grod, helped by Aga's little son Groob. As the women worked, they made light talk of the refreshing cool winds, without touching on the more unpleasant subject of the brutally cold weather those refreshing autumnal winds portended.

Ebra, long a good mate to the old leader Brun, was well attuned to the needs of the men. A moment before Droog looked up to see what woman was available, she had poured tea from the water-sack suspended over a small fire. She set another cup to the side for Uba, who was resting after a fierce bout of nausea. After delivering tea to the young medicine woman, Ebra sat back down and palmed her flint scraper. She could tell by the younger woman's posture that Aga was about to broach an unpleasant subject, and Ebra braced herself. Ebra was a woman who liked to work through her troubles, not speak of them. But it could not be helped.

"There are too many unmated women here," Aga said with a mix of words and gestures. "It is unlucky."

Ebra grunted at this, wondering how much more bad luck could befall them.

"Maybe we should send word to one of the other Clans. With Ovra mated, Droog would be willing to take on another woman, maybe Ika. But the young women need young mates, and it will be several years still before Brac, Grev, and Durc can take mates."

"Durc has a mate," Ebra reminded her. "Ura."

"But will her mother want to send her, when we have no cave? When we have had such bad luck? Better that we send some of our young women to that Clan."

"And then there will be no new babies born to our Clan," Ebra said. She knew she was being contrary, but with her mate dead and her son likely in the next world as well, the first-ranking woman had very little to be hopeful for. Only Brac, the future leader, could bring any joy to her heart. She would preserve what she could of her Clan, for Brac. "Besides, Aga, it is not our place to decide what women mate which men."

"Then who will decide?" Aga demanded, setting her work aside and staring Ebra face on. Aga was challenging Ebra to say that Goov, the mog-ur, would decide in place of Broud. Aga thought the older woman was clinging to the past, refusing to accept that her son had gone off to kill and had instead met his own violent end.

"I must fetch more water," Ebra said irritably. She stood and walked down to the stream, though she had come to prefer the water from the mineral spring near the mouth of their old cave. It was one of the many luxuries she would soon have to learn to do without. If Ebra had dared, she would have cursed whatever fate had brought her to this low place at the end of her life. She had served her mate Brun well, she had born him a strong son, a son any man would be proud to have at his hearth. Loyally, Ebra placed blame for the catastrophes on Ayla rather than Broud. Though Ayla had been a valuable member of the Clan, time erased Ebra's memory of the young blonde woman's strengths and left only the memory of a surly, defiant woman, not even Clan, who had hounded her son mercilessly. Ayla's refusal to accept Broud's authority, first as a man and then as a leader, had brought Ebra to this pass. Now Ebra had proof-the murder of her mate-that the Others were more demons than human. If only Iza had never taken that girl in! If Ayla had never joined the Clan, all things would be right. Ebra shot a contemptuous glance in the direction of the little boy, Durc, orphaned by Ayla's 'death.' Such an ugly boy, Ebra thought. It is well enough that he has a mate already chosen. What woman of the Clan would wish to have such a one for a mate? It was unnatural.

Ebra bent to fill her water sack at the stream's edge, just as a hard gust of wind came along. Irritated, she stood and clasped at the rebellious, silver-streaked strands of her coarse red hair. But as she did, her fading eyesight caught a strange shape on the horizon. It did not have the shape of a human per se; rather, it seemed to the aging woman two humans lumped together, one upright and one floating along sideways in a billowing cloud of shining black. Ebra shielded her gaze with one tanned hand, squinting her eyes as she noted the strong, proud, familiar stride of whatever it was coming their way.

The water sack fell to the ground, gurgling water out over the rocks and mud. And then, Ebra's cry rang off the cliff-face behind her, echoing out of the collapsed cave: "My son!"

He carried a woman with him, Uba saw as she clasped her hands over her heaving belly and stood upright between Ona and Ovra. He carried a woman Uba had never seen before, but it was certainly Broud, and Vorn was not with him.

Well, Uba thought as her heart sunk again, I've already accepted it. Vorn is dead. But if Broud could return, maybe…

"Who is that?" Ona gasped. "Look at her hair!"

Uba said nothing. It was all they could see of the woman in Broud's arms: her long, whipping black hair. Just as Uba and the others could make out the sharp features of Broud's face-and he had shaved his beard, it seemed-Broud stopped and set his woman down. She was very small, smaller than Uba herself, and her hair spilled down past her hips. A current of excitement rushed through the Clan, first that Broud had returned, and then that he had brought someone with him. Who was she? Where did she come from?

The girl's walk was reluctant; her steps were guarded, coltish. She seemed hurt somehow, and as she turned her small face up to them, she ducked evermore behind Broud until he pulled her along. But in those fleeting seconds that she had turned her face to the Clan, they had taken her measure.

"She is one of them!" Aga gestured sharply.

In a shocking bit of disloyalty, the former second Grod muttered, "What's he done now?"

Ebra bit her lips to keep from scolding the man. Her son was home, her son was returned from the dead, her son would take up his rightful place. She would have to convince Broud, somehow, to leave this cursed spot. They would find a new cave-a better cave!-and Ebra would rule as the highest ranking woman, the mother of a mateless leader. Ebra cast her eyes about over the young women before her, wondering who might make the most pliable mate for her son.

But who _was_ this girl her son led on?

* * *

><p>Kyani clung to Broud. The day had started with sharp pain and too much blood, and she had wanted to rest in the quiet shelter Broud had found. But he had been so eager to move on, even carrying her when she had stumbled and cried. And now Kyani knew why: he had found his own again. As they had traveled alone, Broud had become hers, her familiar, her protector, and now something more, something like a mate. Kyani had thought-foolishly-that things would go on this way. Perhaps there would be children in time, but they would be alone, together, learning each other in the quiet of the night and in the bustle of the day.<p>

And now, Kyani peered out frightfully on a dozen or so faces, from toddlers to old women. She stood before an entire tribe of the Old Ones, and they had all lined up to welcome Broud back. She could read no emotion in their faces, no pleasure, no surprise, just _nothing._ There were no smiles and no tears, only twenty-some eyes all locked on her, and none of them friendly.

"Come, come," Broud commanded her quietly, taking her hand up in his. He could feel her shaking again, he perceived the sharp rise of her fear. But he was overjoyed to see his people again, and thrilled that each one he had left behind had survived in his absence. Even those who were missing from the crowd couldn't sadden him; Broud was home, he could rebuild. He could become the leader Brun had wanted him to be.

"Mother," he called softly, and Ebra came shuffling forward in a submissive posture she'd not taken since he left. Ebra dropped at Broud's feet and waited for his signal that she could speak. He touched her lightly on the shoulder, shocked at how frail that once strong shoulder felt in his palm.

"This woman rejoices to see the leader again," Ebra gestured eloquently, true pleasure glowing in her dark eyes. Ebra paused, and then decided that as Broud's mother, the question was hers to ask. "This woman respectfully requests to know whom the leader has brought; she is not Clan."

Broud nodded. He gestured the entire group over, wanting to get it over with at once. "This woman found me near death nearly a moon ago. She healed me, and for it her people-" Broud paused, thinking that he ought not to say that Kyani was cursed with death. "She was banished, sent away. She is mine now."

A shudder of consternation passed over the small group. How could this girl of the Others belong to Broud? What did he mean, her people banished her? What would the spirits think of one of her violent kind in their midst? For all her small size, this outsider was not a child like Ayla had been, a child who could be trained properly. Broud had brought a young woman of the Others to his Clan.

It was Goov who finally spoke. He approached the leader cautiously, respectfully, and seized on the only positive thing he could find in this most unexpected turn of events. "This… this woman is a healer? A medicine woman?"

"I do not know, Goov," Broud said, thanking his totem that he'd the chance to say that name once more. "But she healed me. She knows some medicine, but I do not think she was so valuable to her kind. They drove her off with hardly any discussion."

Goov was too tactful to point out that Broud had done just the same to their own best medicine woman, leaving them with a sickly young woman who lacked the necessary confidence in her own skill. "Does she know how to speak?" he asked hopefully.

"No," Broud said. "I've taught her some, but she will need to learn everything now. And she will need… she will need a Clan totem, so that we can be properly mated."

This was too much. There was a roar of conversation, a flurry of gesturing, and many a gaping mouth. Broud cut over it all. "But for now, we have come a long way. We are tired and hungry. Ebra, bring us tea and food. I will go to my shelter and rest, and later I will answer any other questions anyone might have." Broud snatched up Kyani's hand once more, and led her away to where his shelter still stood, almost as a talisman in hopes for his return.

"It's all right," Broud said softly, sinking his hands into Kyani's thick hair. His thumbs stroked her cheeks with tender reassurance, but the wide-eyed, frightened look was casted into her fine features. She didn't understand him, and so he cradled her against his chest. "Home, Kyani," he told her. "Broud, Kyani, home."

Ebra unobtrusively brought them refreshment, a venison stew and refreshing chamomile tea. She eyed the delicate woman her son called his own with dark dislike. It was not proper how the girl clutched at her son's arm. Had she let go of him once since they'd arrived? How could Broud tolerate it? What had happened to him out there? But when Broud turned his gaze back to Ebra's face from the food, his expression left the old woman no room to question or condemn. Already Broud was shedding the self-consciousness and fear he had felt alone on the steppe, and was returning to himself, to his old confidence and command. His mother backed away, shuffling again. Kyani thought it was a lot like groveling, and she didn't think she could ever behave that way. But Broud's status was starting to become apparent to her, both from the reaction of his people and the fact that his rough hide shelter was the largest, and lined with many rich furs. And with his status came responsibility. She had hoped they would hide in this half-tent, partially obscured from the hostile faces of his people. But after they had eaten Broud told her to sleep, and then went out to talk to the men who waited for him. Left alone, Kyani was painfully aware of the women rudely staring at her. She heeded Broud's command, and curled up in his furs. She couldn't sleep, but at least if she could pretend, she wouldn't have to see them all watching her. The harsh, guttural words outside terrified her, as did the crude and foreign surroundings. She was suddenly conscious of the deep pain between her legs and in her belly, and frightened by what had caused it. Sure she had made a terrible mistake, Kyani hid her face in her arms and wept.

"Broud, I just don't understand this. You left with Vorn and Crug to kill these people, yet you return with one of their women! You want Goov to find a Clan totem for her, so she can be your mate! What are the people to think?"

"They can think whatever they like. Ki-ani is mine. I won't let her go. And we need more people now, don't we? We need more women, so we can have more children." Broud was defiant. He had expected some questioning, but he was tired of it now.

Droog countered, "What about one of the many young women who are now without mates? Why should you take this girl, when they are left alone?"

"You should take another to your hearth, Droog. Uba, maybe." Broud raised his hand to silence his men. "Enough of this. We must be up in the morning. I want to start looking for another cave, and I want to look up, in the mountains. Where it is safe."

"Safe?" Grod asked, at once alert. He feared the worst. "Did you steal this woman, Broud? Are her kind coming after you? Are we in more danger now?"

"It happened as I said, Grod! But her people are not far behind. I felt them following me, I am sure. Do not tell the women, but we must prepare ourselves. The Others want our land, and I will protect us against them. Tomorrow we begin our search, up in the mountains. It will be colder, but we will be like eagles. We will see everything coming at us. We won't be caught unaware again."

"But why this girl, Broud?" Droog demanded. "She is one of theirs; she will bring their evil spirits with her! Ursus will not want her here, after what her people have done! We will follow you into the mountains, Broud, but leave the girl behind, before she brings us worse luck!"

Broud's sudden harshness alarmed the other men, especially old Zoug, who did not trust the rash leader. Only Goov, watching the others without commenting, remained in a calm silence. "She is mine, Droog! I told you this already. I will not let her go; I will never let her go! You will follow me because I am the leader! And you won't tell me what woman I take to my hearth! She is mine. I want her. I will have her."

"Mog-ur," Droog pressed, though his manner was now more cautious. "What do you think of this woman of the Others? Will she bring us bad luck?"

"You believed Ayla brought us good luck, Droog," Goov gestured simply. "We should give this woman a chance, as we gave Ayla a chance."

The others expected Broud to go into a fury at the mention of the blonde woman, but Broud only nodded and asked, "You will meditate on her totem, Goov? Surely she has one. How can anyone-Clan or Other-exist without a totem?"

The men turned to Goov. If mog-ur said he would meditate on the girl's totem, the matter would be decided. They would have no choice but to accept another of Broud's impulsive acts, perhaps the most impulsive and unexpected of them all. Why was he so fiercely determined to keep that tiny girl of the Others? Surely there were now many young and attractive Clan women needing mates, any of whom would be more fitting for the leader!

"These are strange times," Goov said softly. "Creb told me that nothing would be the same anymore. Things are changing, even the Clans will change. I have seen it. I think we must accept this woman. Perhaps we will even have need of her. I did not believe it before, but now I am sure that we must protect ourselves against these Others. When Broud teaches her to speak, we can learn from her what these strange men want and what they plan to do. This is why I believe we must accept her, and why we must follow Broud into the mountains. Ursus has told me that we will walk unknown paths in the days to come. I believe this is but the first. Yes, Broud. I will seek your new woman's totem. I will do it gladly."

"Good," Broud said, a little more at ease. He had not expected mog-ur to give such a strong blessing to Kyani's presence among them. And then Broud wondered, did Ursus lead her to me, to benefit the Clan entire? The thought that it was not his own will, his own desire acting on him, but the guidance of the spirit world was unsettling. But the matter was settled, at least for tonight. Broud stalked away from his hunters, and to Oga's sons.

He was irritated to see Durc following Grev so closely, but Ayla's son hung back as the boys of Broud's hearth tumbled into his arms. They had hung back uncertainly until now, when Broud knelt down and opened his arms for them. He praised their strength, particularly impressed with how much Brac had grown in his absence. There was no trace of weakness in the arm that Ayla had mended. "You are almost a man," Broud said with approval. "I will need your strength soon, Brac, if we are to continue hunting mammoth. Yours too, Grev. And to help you grow strong, I have brought you a new mother."

"She's smaller than me!" Brac complained, unimpressed. "She's even smaller than Uba! And she is strange looking. She is not Clan."

"That may be, but she knows good healing magic, and she is kind. She is not yet Clan, but she will be, and she is a good woman. You will see. You will come to love her, as I do. Now, where have you been sleeping at night?"

"With Ebra," Brac said, baffled by Broud's talk of love. Brac remembered Broud's fierce hatred of Ayla, and the harshness he developed over the years with Oga.

"Good. Sleep in my mother's shelter tonight, and until we find a new cave. I must be alone with your new mother, until she learns our language and our ways." It was only half the truth. Broud was not quite ready to surrender himself to the rest of his people. He wanted more time alone with Kyani. He felt his step lighten as he returned to her, he felt his heart lifting in anticipation of the moment when he could take her in his arms again. He felt a rush of sexual excitement as he recalled how she had felt beneath him, and he was no longer afraid that his hard need would kill her spirit. Broud ducked under the shelter, his blood surging as he caught scent of her. But when he dropped down beside her, she clung to the furs, clung to her body, her shoulders shaking with sobs.

"Ki-ani," he whispered, detaching her gently, pulling her up in his arms. She cringed from his touch as if he were a stranger again, as if he meant her some great harm. "What's this?" he asked, baffled, lifting her chin with his fingers. Her face was stained with tears. "Ki-ani hurt? Not well?"

She stared at him blankly, as if she had forgotten the words they had used for so many days. She was struck dumb with fear. Broud frowned, wondering how long she had been crying alone. He ignored the resistance in her limbs as he drew her into his arms. He had wanted her again, he had looked forward to this moment, but she now clutched her arms over her belly in obvious pain from the night before, and her eyes were wide with the fear that he would do it again. "All right, all right," Broud said, ignoring his frustration, smothering it like Kyani had smothered her cries for him. "Ki-ani well. Safe now. Home now. Sleep, Ki-ani. Sleep. I will watch over you."

He sat back, holding the frightened girl on his chest. Hadn't it just been so easy, travelling together across the steppes? Broud sighed heavily as the burden of his responsibility came crashing down on him. Was it all a mistake, bringing her here? Hadn't she wanted him? Had he only imagined her kindness, and the way she had pressed herself against him only last night? He hardly knew the shivering woman in his arms. But then, her little sobs slowed, and the tension in her limbs softened. He felt her small cold hand creep through the opening in his wrap and press against his belly, seeking his warmth. Broud eased himself back into his furs, knowing he would have no release tonight. Just as well. The pleasure of Kyani's delicate body seeking his comfort once more was sweet enough, and there would be plenty of time for the rest, once she felt safe with him again. Broud cupped his hand over her head protectively, and closed his eyes.

In her first few moments of consciousness, Kyani was finally warm. Soft, thick furs were wrapped over her body. Hard, strong arms encircled her. Her cheek pressed against warm flesh. "Broud," she murmured, smiling with her eyes closed. She knew his smell, a strong male scent mixed with smoke and pine and wet earth. His hand was buried in her thick hair, the other rested possessively against the curve of her hip. In that drowsy moment she did not question where she was, and she did not feel sore or frightened. She inhaled the deep male scent of her hunter and was satisfied.

And then she opened her eyes, and took in her strange surroundings. A fire was reduced to glowing coals before her. Above her, a crudely cut piece of hide stretched to form a lean-to type shelter. In the dim, pre-dawn light, Kyani took note of the items in the shelter. There was nothing for cooking, no stored food, no ornamentation of any kind. Broud's only possessions were weapons. Spears lay clustered together at the back of the shelter, some capped with flint, some merely sharpened and scorched with fire to make a hard, wicked point. She recognized a bola, set to the side almost reverently on a swatch of thick brown fur. There was a thick hide wrap carefully bound with a sinew cord that looked like it might hold tools or knives. There was no trace of a woman's presence whatsoever. The older, red-haired woman who had thrown herself at Broud's feet the day before was not his woman. Perhaps, then, his mother? Kyani bit her lips; if his mother had to grovel at his feet, how would she be expected to behave? It didn't matter, she realized. Last night she had been terrorized by the faces of the Old Ones, senselessly afraid of where she had been brought and how she would now live. In the fresh, pale morning, Kyani knew that this would have to be her home now. She would have to adapt. She gazed up at Broud's sleeping face. She was his now, his mate, his woman. He had been greeted with a great deal of reverence, suitable for a man of great status. Perhaps he was even the leader of these people. He would not let anyone hurt her.

Broud woke. He blinked groggily, and then his eyes warmed at the sight of her. Kyani smiled at him; she was not upset. She was not leaking from the eyes or shaking in dumb terror. He ran his fingers over the incredibly soft skin of her face, and then he cupped her chin in his hand and held her gaze. "Come," he said. "Ki-ani. Must eat. Must fetch water."

Kyani struggled to understand. She knew come, eat, water. But she did not know what to do. Her lessons could not wait. If she was to be an acceptable mate for the leader, she would have to learn Clan ways quickly. Broud couldn't lead her about by her hand like a child. He could not teach her women's work. He looked to his collection of weapons, thinking of the most important lesson, the one Ayla had never mastered.

Broud reached for a spear. He held it up, as if to offer it to her. When she reached her hand out, his expression grew stern. He pulled the spear away. "No," he said, which she knew. "No. Never touch. Woman never touch."

She was confused. Her hand floated awkwardly in the air, suspended over the weapon. Broud put his fingers on her arm. "Touch," he said. He stroked her face. "Touch."

Kyani smiled. After a few more moments of their familiar game, she put her fingertips on his chest and repeated the low word, a sound that caught in her throat. "Touch." She was rewarded with Broud's pleasure, which she was fast learning to read from his dark, gleaming eyes and his posture, rather than a curve of his lips.

But then he became stern again. He lifted the weapon. "No touch. Ki-ani no touch."

"Yes, Broud," she said. Her guess was right: she was not to touch his weapons. She could not comprehend the deeply entrenched customs and traditions that led to the prohibition. She only wanted to please him. She wouldn't touch his weapons, not because it would defile the weapon and anger the spirits, but because her hunter didn't want her to. Broud nodded with pleasure. She was quick and eager to obey. He was hopeful that his new woman could be made acceptable, both to the Clan and to the spirits that ruled them.

She followed him out of the shelter. She was unsurprised to see the Clan awake and up, for the days began early among her own kind as well. But here, it was the women who were hustling about while the men were slowly coming to life, stretching, contemplating the day. Kyani caught their curious glances as she followed Broud, but no one looked straight at her. The women that they passed ducked their heads submissively. Broud stopped before a young brown haired woman who seemed to be in her fourth or fifth month of pregnancy. The woman bowed her head and waited.

"Uba," Broud said, telling her with a mix of gestures and simple words, "This is Ki-ani, my new woman. She is to be my mate, but she must first learn women's work. You will teach her."

Uba's lips parted softly. She almost shook her head, no. How could she teach a grown woman of the Others? The Others had killed Vorn. She did not want to have one of them at her side. Why had Broud chosen her to teach this interloper? Did she not have enough to do, being a novice medicine woman as well as a new widow carrying a child? Uba was afraid that she would lose this baby like she had lost her first. She did not want any additional duties to take her away from what rest she could snatch.

"You liked Ayla," Broud said, almost an accusation. "You knew Ayla better than any of us. You shared a hearth with her. You know more about her people."

"Ayla did not even know her people!" Uba gestured frantically. Ayla was her sister, Ayla was Clan! This woman was nothing like Ayla!

Broud flashed his old, quick anger. Was she defying him? He did not want Kyani's first lesson from a woman to be defiance to a man! "You will teach her," Broud repeated sternly. He listed what words and phrases Kyani understood, a tiny list compared to the rich and complex Clan language. Uba bowed her head in obedience, defeated. Broud turned to his new woman, a woman no bigger or stronger than the child Brac. To Uba's utter shock, the leader caressed this woman's fragile-looking face. He spoke to her in murmurs, ordering her to stay. He gestured to Uba, said her name. The woman, possessed of odd, violet eyes surrounded by impossibly long, thick black lashes, turned her odd gaze on Uba. She repeated the name. Uba nodded reluctantly. Even stranger, Broud touched Kyani's face again, and the woman dropped her cheek into his hand like a baby drawing comfort from its mother. Open affection was frowned upon by the Clan, except for in the privacy of one's hearth. Uba wondered why Broud did not cuff her for it. Something happened to him while he was away, Uba thought. Something has changed him, and the strange woman has a great deal to do with it. Uba still resented Broud for driving Ayla off. She blamed him for the destruction of their cave and for Vorn's death, and her leader's bizarre petting of this new woman of the Others angered her. But her rich heritage as a medicine woman, full of heightened powers of observation as well as a natural inclination to approve of anything that helped another, stoked her interest.

It was not Uba's place to question the leader. She put her conflicting feelings aside and turned her attention to this little woman who stood so shyly before her. Uba snatched up two water skins, and thrust one at the woman. "We must gather water to cook breakfast," she said quickly.

Uba was not a patient teacher. When Ayla had come, Uba's mother Iza had treated Ayla with all the patience and tenderness due a child. Uba did not rush as she showed Kyani how to prepare a morning meal of tea, mash, and fruit; but she didn't explain the words for each thing as she touched it. She didn't give Kyani a fair chance to learn. Kyani strained to catch on. She sensed no satisfaction from the young Clan woman when she guessed at the word for apple, chamomile, or grain. Kyani had never been shown such disdain, and it cut her. Hoping to please, she tried to mimic the woman's subservient posture, shortening her stride, keeping her eyes averted or to the ground when passing others. As with Ayla, Kyani's strangeness overwhelmed the success of her efforts to fit in.

Kyani took a portion of the food when she was offered, but Uba reprimanded her with a sharp word that caught Kyani by surprise and disappointment. Kyani was famished, but Uba motioned to where Broud was sitting with Goov. Kyani was to serve her man first, before she ate, if she was allowed to eat at all! Uba left Kyani alone to cross the campsite with Broud's breakfast.

The other women had served their mates almost on bended knee. One mature woman had to sit head bowed, bowl in hand, for a long while before her mate stopped sorting over a pile of rocks to recognize her. Kyani's cheeks burned as she walked past the clusters of fires. She would be humiliated to get on her knees or sit while ignored, offering bowl in hand. But her fears were unfounded. Broud was talking to Goov about the high mountains running in a line to the northeast, but his eyes couldn't leave Kyani. As soon as she was close he motioned for her to sit beside him. He shared his food with her, as he sometimes had with Oga. He let his hand bump hers as if by accident, but when his skin swept hers he lingered, and she had to bite back her smile. Broud tried to make his gestures of reassurance and affection discrete, but they were not missed by anyone. There was a heat between the leader and the small, dark woman, a bond usually only seen by two mated for a lifetime, yet full of some swirling, dizzying, fiery desire. Broud couldn't take his eyes off Kyani. Kyani tried to emulate the other women and did not return his longing gazes; all the same, a warm flush crept up her throat and spread over her cheeks when he watched her. Her strange violet eyes seemed to glow and everyone saw it. It was beyond curious to the others, especially the women. The older women, led by Ebra, were scandalized and disapproving. They were uncomfortable with the overt attention he paid this foreign scrap of a woman.

But the younger women, Ovra and Ona and even Uba, as the day went on, were fascinated. Ovra loved Goov deeply, and she recognized herself in Kyani's eagerness to please Broud as well as her open desire to be beside him always. Ona and Uba grew melancholy, missing their lost mates while wondering who now would keep them warm at night. Kyani thought she was being subtle, hiding her longing to be alone with Broud, to lie on his chest while wrapped in thick furs. She didn't know that she was among a people whose sensitivity was equaled only by their deep understanding of body language and ability to read any gesture, however small. Kyani couldn't be more obvious if she openly cried out for the man and threw herself into his arms. Ebra was horrified by Kyani's unwomanly behavior, worrying that it would have a bad influence on the young women of the Clan. She thought smugly that Broud would soon tire of such a demonstrative creature. She thought he might beat Kyani.

Broud noted the despair that Kyani tried to hide when she saw him snatch up a spear and Brun's bola. It pleased him, not that she was unhappy, but that she longed so much for him. He was more than flattered; he had always craved attention, the physical proof of love and acceptance, from women. His own face was flushed with proud warmth as he imagined returning to her with his day's kill bound to his spear. He motioned to Goov and Grod, and they snatched up their weapons. It was a fair, bright early autumn day, the sun rising into a cloudless sky; a fine day to hunt. Droog gathered up his spear as well but Broud shook his head. "A man will have to stay behind, Droog. And not just old Zoug."

The tool maker furrowed his heavy brows without understanding. "I must hunt for my hearth, Broud," he gestured.

Broud turned his back to the women and told Droog quietly, "Things are changed now. I will not leave the women and children without a strong man to protect them, and we won't travel far besides. We are not alone in this country anymore."

Droog nodded, understanding immediately. He turned his gaze out to the northern horizon, half expecting to see the demon Others, lanky and lean and running towards them with spears up. But there was nothing other than the golden, gently swaying grasses of the steppes.

Broud put his hand on Droog's shoulder. "Good man. If the spirits are with us, we will bring enough for all to share. We will rotate days to hunt. This must be our way now."

Broud knelt over the bleeding ibex, Kyani's obsidian dagger in hand. "Thank you, little brother," he murmured softly, pulling the animal's head up by a tuft of fur on its head. He slit the exposed throat quickly and the life blood of the beast poured out around Broud's feet. Broud gave a swift death to the creatures he hunted, having no wish to cause suffering or to offend the spirit of the animal he killed. The ibex was a big male, almost three hundred pounds, and it was the second that the three men had taken from the rising Crimean mountains.

"That is a strange weapon," Grod noted when Broud looked up.

Broud stood, drawing the shining black blade over his wrap before he set it back in the cord knotted around his waist. "It is the same as the one that cut my leg. She gave it to me."

"The woman touched it?" Grod asked in horror.

"Her touch did not offend this blade," Broud attempted to explain. "Their kind allows women to touch weapons. She won't do it anymore, though. I have taught her that Clan spirits abhor a woman's hand on a weapon. She won't defy me."

Grod grunted in disbelief. He had no high opinion of women of the Others, and he surely had no faith in their ability to obey. It had been proven impossible once already.

"Tie up this animal," Broud ordered swiftly. As Goov and Grod bound the ibex to Broud's spear, Broud stood and gazed out towards the shining blue sea, rippling with tiny waves crested in white foam. They had not climbed terribly high, barely past the line of wind-whipped pines, but still he had a commanding view of the land in all directions. The steppes were at his back, but that direction would be the most important way to watch. Towards the northeast, the mountains rose higher still. Many peaks were capped in glistening white already; others were cloaked in mist. It would be cold up there, even in the midsummer. But there was plenty of game to be had, and many fresh streams would run down from the snowpack. Yet they had been out for much of the day, and yet had found no suitable cave. Broud looked at Goov and asked, "Do you think there will be large caves up here?"

"Should be," Goov replied. He brushed the molting ibex's fur from his hands and set them on his hips. "But I would feel more comfortable if we searched for them as a clan, or at least brought the women and children up high before we men went on."

"So you understand," Broud said, his voice hard with purpose.

Goov nodded. "The Others will keep coming, I think. I do not believe that all of them are wicked; surely you must now agree. But it would be better for us to leave the open land. With what the women gather today, these two animals will provide enough meat for today and tomorrow. We ought to bring the rest of the Clan up here tomorrow and continue our search. It must be done soon, Broud."

Broud made a small grunt of agreement. He scanned the northern steppe warily. Back in the embrace of his family, the anxious feeling of being hunted like an animal had softened momentarily. Staring down from the heights, though, it was easily recalled. Someone had been following them, and it wasn't a cave lion. "Tomorrow, we will bring everyone up to this peak while we men search."

"It will be difficult for Uba," Grod warned.

Broud rounded on the older man. He knew Grod doubted him, and he had offended Grod when he vaulted Vorn up to Second before Grod's hair had even greyed. Broud could not have such a petty quarrel undermine his authority when such a desperate threat overshadowed them. "Uba's death at the hands of the Others would be far more difficult for her, Grod, and for all of us. She will have to climb."

Kyani and Uba spent their day together, gathering the early harvest of the land. Kyani had been delighted to find a thick vine of grapes, popping several into her mouth as she picked. She offered a smile to Uba, but the young woman did not return a friendly gesture. Kyani sighed. Their people had not enjoyed good encounters, and it would take time.

She longed for her woven baskets. Uba carried hide sacks, and Kyani had only spied several woven crafts at the camp sight, rough work that she guessed was made from sinews and hides. Lighter wicker baskets would be best for gathering more fruits, vegetables, and tubers. Grapevine could serve but was tough to work. Kyani would like to gather strips of ash wood, but she decided that as they returned along the stream she could gather reeds to weave a quick basket or two for tomorrow's gathering. Carrying their sacks of grapes, nuts, and early apples, they headed back along the gurgling stream. "Uba," Kyani called, stopping by the reeds.

The Clan woman shook her head. "Come, Kyani."

Kyani smiled patiently. The Clan woman was treating her like a stupid child, and Kyani would have to put an end to it if she was to make her home here. She raised her hand to indicate, "Wait," and proceeded to cut reeds with the small flint tool she had been given, choosing the unblemished ones. She also seized a great many cattail leaves, perfect and green at this time of year, though these would have to dry for several days before they could be used. Uba sighed heavily, glancing about for Ebra or one of the other women to take charge of the stranger for a moment. Uba wished she hadn't eaten any of the grapes; her stomach was beginning to turn sour again, and she couldn't boil water for tea until they returned. If only this woman would hurry! She reached into her otter-skin medicine bag for a helpful root to chew, but the sour metallic saliva filling her throat gagged her. Miserably, Uba dropped to her knees and vomited into the reeds.

The woman was horribly sick. Kyani dropped her burdens and knelt beside Uba, rubbing her hands softly over Uba's back. Kyani saw the cuttings of wild ginger root clenched in Uba's hand, but Uba couldn't stop retching long enough to chew them. Kyani rolled a broad leaf and brought sweet water from the stream to Uba's lips. She had never carried a child or experienced the fierce sickness that a baby sometimes brought, but obviously both races shared the affliction. Uba drank slowly, her gaze meeting Kyani's. For the first time, Kyani was able to read the emotion in a Clan woman's eyes: there was fear, and deep sorrow. Kyani wondered that the young woman had no man in her shelter, only a lanky little boy called Durc. Perhaps Uba's mate was dead. Perhaps he had died when Broud was injured. Kyani bit her lips, her heart heavy and the stupidity of it all, the senseless waste. When Uba regained something of her composure back Kyani asked words that Broud had taught her, "Better now?"

"No," Uba replied truthfully. She sat back on the soft, mossy grass to catch her breath, draping her hands over her round belly. She said more words, made more gestures, but it was nothing Kyani could understand. She offered Uba what comfort she could: a soft touch, water, and a quiet supportive presence. Uba pursed her lips together as she sized up the foreign woman and decided that she was kind. Her hands were gentle and capable, and her instinct to help was immediate. Uba's first reaction of dislike melted away quickly. She isn't Ayla, Uba reminded herself sternly. Kyani marveled that Uba had-just for a moment-borne something like friendship in her eyes before it vanished as quickly as it came. Kyani sighed; it would be a long road until these people accepted her. But would her own kind be any quicker, if the situation were reversed?

Back at the camp, Kyani stoked Broud's fire. She borrowed a wooden bowl from Uba and copied a Clan method of warming water with rocks heated in the fire. While the water heated, Kyani laid her cattail leaves out in the sun. Then she soaked the reeds in the warm water until they were more pliable. Feeling the eyes of the older red-haired woman on her, Kyani set the spoke-like base for her first basket. She enjoyed weaving and had fair skill at it. The women of the Clan watched with grudging admiration as Kyani speedily made one fine basket and then another. She felt new eyes on her and cast a hidden glance up from under her dark lashes: Broud's two boys Brac and Grev, followed by Uba's boy Durc, were lingering nearby with big, curious brown eyes. The two smaller boys were naked but for cords about their waists with little slings tucked beside their hips. They clutched tiny spears in their hands. Kyani smothered her delighted smile and offered them a small grin instead, and quick as little rabbits they turned on their heels and ran away. A ways behind them stood Ebra, glaring rudely into her son's shelter, her face screwed up in disapproval. Kyani's smile dissolved and she turned her eyes back down to her work.

The hunters came in then, to Kyani's delight. They shouldered spears with two fat, healthy mountain goats lashed to the spears. She could not hide her smile to see Broud strutting cockily down the rocky hill, the wind tousling his dark chestnut-brown hair about the strong, sharply angled planes of his face. His eyes sought her out immediately, before anything else, and he swelled with pride. She was watching him, admiration in her pretty violet eyes. Her adoring gaze was as food to Broud.

In Brun's day, unless large game such as a mammoth, a bison, or rhinoceros was brought down, each hunter killed his own game for his own hearth. All had offered a portion to Creb, the deformed holy man who could not hunt on his own. But in this new day the women were called together to butcher the two large animals and they were cooked over a communal fire pit. The best pieces were offered to Broud and then Goov, and then to Grod who seemed to have resumed his station as second in command without any discussion on the matter. Kyani longed to gather her own herbs and do her own cooking, but despite the language barrier and the way the older women seemed to scorn her, it was rather merry to work all together. The mature Clan women had expected something like the new-found Ayla with Kyani, and they were reminded as she worked that Kyani was a woman grown who did not need to be taught to butcher or skin or cook. They were grudgingly relieved. For her part, Kyani found a bit of enjoyment in the camaraderie of the women and the good, comforting smell of roasting meat and vegetables. She had not realized how much she had missed women on her journey. When the rich meal was prepared, Kyani imitated the Clan women and served Broud with a bowed head, realizing at once the pleasure she was giving him by doing so. She did not feel so much like she was groveling then, but honoring him, which she could easily do after the cave lion incident.

After they ate, the Clan gathered together and they seemed to tell tales around the fire as her own people did, except here there was a great deal of pantomime and Kyani found herself caught up by the elegance of their motions even if she could not share in the stories. Broud sat at her side and as the night darkened, his arm slipped discretely around her waist and he encouraged her to lean against him. She was happy to do so. The Clan saw this; some recalled how Broud had cuddled Oga to him in his younger years, before his strange battles with Ayla exploded in the young man's face and humiliated him.

Kyani was enjoying herself. She was safe and full and dry, with no hard trek before her. Broud's arm was locked possessively around her, and she saw for the first time that other pairs were sharing such abbreviated, discrete forms of affection in the darkness, as her own people did. The Clan was not so foreign, and even that foreignness was exciting because it was infused with her growing passion for her hunter, her leader. But as comforted as she was, Kyani she suddenly realized that the proportions of men, women, and children in this community were all wrong. There were a few mature men and women, and then a gaggle of youthful women or nubile girls, and then only four children, all of whom were boys. Some disaster had befallen these people, stripping them of young hunters and children. Or maybe, children were harder won among these people. In Kyani's band, nearly one-third of the members were children. Unless something changed dramatically, and soon, this Clan would dwindle. Kyani looked up at Broud, wondering if he felt any sense of desperation when he looked over his people. She hoped her own kind had not played a part in the destruction of his Clan. It would be best, she thought, if Uba had a girl. Durc seems to be her child; he now lay with his head in Uba's lap. Kyani thought a daughter of Uba would be best for one of Broud's two sons. But that would leave the other son and Durc, and that older woman's young boy without mates. Kyani pouted anxiously, hoping that someone in this group was considering this danger. Already, Kyani had begun the transformation from a woman of her own band to Broud's mate, with a concern for all the people he was responsible for.

Broud wasn't thinking of this, though. He was at pure ease. He had noted the happy change in his new woman. She had been industrious this day, and it made him proud of her and hopeful that the other Clan members were impressed, too. Uba had given him a full report, and he noted the baskets drying near his fire as well as the strips of cattail leaves set out to dry. He hoped she had begun to think of herself as Clan, and that the others would accept her soon.

It was fairly late when the Clan retreated to their separate beds. Broud watched as Goov went off on his own, away from Ovra and towards the cave that had once been their home. Uba had prepared some drink for him, and it was just as well. They would need all the spiritual guidance of mog-ur in the coming days. Already the old traditions were being tread upon, and it made Broud uncomfortable. But what else could be done?

He pushed his dark thoughts away and brought Kyani to his shelter. He wondered idly if Droog had relieved his needs with Aga while he lingered at the camp, giving Kyani a chance to see the signal. It didn't really matter. She shed her travel-worn doeskin and climbed under the furs, watching him with a warm and steady gaze that made Broud's heart flip into his stomach and his body stir. He dropped his own garment and slipped into bed beside her, almost dizzy with the thought of the pleasure he would take. Kyani's breath came quick then, but she was soft in his hands as he coaxed her to turn onto her belly. He pulled her hips up, feasting his eyes on her body. He pressed his hand against the small of her back until her back dropped into a deep, gorgeously provocative arch, and then he clutched her hips and pushed hard until he was inside of her, tipping his head back and closing his eyes at the ecstatic sensation. He could easily forget that the tightness that was so intriguing for him was a misery for her, until her sharp cries called him back.

"Shh, be quiet," he gasped, hoping that the others wouldn't hear her, hoping, before he was swept away from all thought and care, that she wouldn't have such pain tonight. But Kyani couldn't even keep herself up; her arms shuddered and then collapsed. Broud followed her down into the soft furs. He wrapped his hand over her mouth again, smothering the gasps and cries even though they excited him powerfully and drove him to a quick, hard climax. He couldn't withdraw; the dampness he had filled her with felt too good to abandon after the first bone dry greeting, and he took his pleasure again with his deep hard thrusts, made brutal by his size rather than his intention. Kyani was shaking in his arms when he finally spent himself. His own body trembled and he lay over her for a long while, trying to recover his mind and his strength, unable even to think.

When he finally drew her onto his chest, Kyani buried her face until she caught her breath. She was sore worse than before, torn and bruised and badly handled. It couldn't go on this way, but without some instruction it was likely to. Though her new mate had a depth of sensitivity unlike her first, and his love for her was obvious, the hunter had no understanding of her own needs. She would have to show him that his way was too rough for her, at least now, so early in their life together. Her mate had been a boy, but he had known, he had been taught by older women before his mating to treat a woman gently and share pleasure with her. Now Broud's hands were running over Kyani's body appreciatively, not for her delight but for his own, as if he had no idea of what he could give her in return for what he took for himself. But he did not want her to grieve again, and he didn't want to drive her spirit away. He lifted her chin to see her eyes, to show her that he was beyond pleased with her, so pleased that his body glowed with it. So deep was his adoration of Kyani and what she gave that he would gladly die for her. Broud's emotion, as intensely felt as all his emotions ever were, burned clear and hot in his dark eyes. Kyani met those eyes for a long while, judging his good will. Finally, she pushed herself up on her weak, shaking arms and put her mouth against his; and this time it was Broud who froze in shock.

The sensation was exquisite. The young woman's lips played on his softly, pressing against his lips, pushing them open. Her sweet breath was warm against his. He felt her hands touch his rough cheeks, her fingers spread into his thick hair. He lay back on his furs, stunned by her gentle attack. He lay still, passive, and let her taste him, entranced by this new feeling. Her lips strayed, brushed over the stubble along his jaw and then her warm mouth pressed against his throat, over the maddeningly sensitive skin behind his ears, down the thick vein in his neck. Her tongue dancing over his tingling flesh provoking a consuming sensation like something out of the deepest of his datura-induced visions, when his body and spirit seemed to melt into the earth. Broud and all of his kind were far more developed in the regions of the brain that controlled the senses, and Kyani had no idea how thrilling her touch was for him, more so for Broud than for any man of the Others. It was almost a sweet torture for Broud as Kyani played her lips and her tongue over his body. His quick, stumbling breath encouraged her. The powerful man was like a boy in initiation under Kyani's soft attention, and she drew her kisses down his broad chest, his rigid, muscled abdomen. She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were closed and his lips were parted. His breathing was heavy and trembling and his impressive organ had grown thick and hard again. Kyani wanted to teach him how to help her enjoy him, how to please her.

But the hunter's different biology made this a more dangerous game than the girl had gambled on. She took him in her mouth but after only a few sweet, thrilling kisses he exploded into motion, snatching her hard as his brutal, tormented lust finally overwhelmed his care for her. Kyani knew he would throw her down again and she twisted in his grasp, suddenly terrified and desperate to escape him. He'd not understood. He'd taken again, with no thought for giving. She had erred in judgment, like a woman trying to feed a wild beast, and now his hands were locked around her hips, his fingers gripping and digging into her flesh painfully. Their bodies were locked in a struggle for dominance. Broud was a thousand times stronger and aroused beyond sense, and she had done this to him, to herself. Kyani knew nothing else to do; before he could flip her onto her belly again, she forced her hips against his, taking him in, throwing her head back and screaming at the effort. Stunned, stupefied, Broud watched with wide eyes as she sat astride him, rocking back and forth until finally took him fully. Shuddering, she lay over his chest and took his face in her hands. She sobbed his name. She was crying and panting at once. And beyond all this, the first sparks of her own pleasure were crackling awake, a hint of a pleasure unlike any she had felt before, merciless and relentlessly filling and utterly complete. Broud released her hips and saw through the delirium of his pleasure that he had mottled her lovely ivory skin with ugly bruises. He was torn between shame and bliss. Trembling, moments from the peak of a violent climax, he fell back again into the thick furs and watched with half-lidded eyes, surrendering to her desperate exotic dance.

They could not sleep for hours. They lay side by side, staring at each other, grasping silently for an understanding of each other that was still just beyond their reach. Their bodies ached as if they had done battle. Tentatively, Broud placed his hand over hers. Kyani accepted it; she laced her fingers with his. The cold air thrilled their sweaty skin. Above the crude hide of the shelter, the stars swung east to west overhead in their eternal dance, the hearths of heaven burning bright and careless to the world. Around them the Clan slept fitfully, disturbed by what they had heard. But in the shelter, in the orange glow of the fading fire, they were the only man and woman in all existence. Slowly, they came together again. Broud took her small body in his powerful arms. He wrapped the furs tight around them. Kyani brushed his sweaty hair away from his face. Broud ran his fingers over her pretty lips, and then he clutched her to his chest, every thought erased from his mind but the joy of her.

In the morning the Clan assembled at the base of the rising mountain chain. Broud wanted to be careless of their curious eyes, but he was too much a creature of the Clan, dependent on their opinion. He almost spoke to Goov about what Kyani had done to him, but he thought the mog-ur would wonder, once and for all, if Broud had truly lost his sanity. The men and women both watched the leader and the woman he had named for his mate, unable to join in their minds the flushed cheeks and bright eyes of the pair to the girl's slight stumbling stride and the animalistic screams and guttural gasps they had heard in the night. Her head was held high and she clutched her basket in her arms, eager to sample the harvest of the mountains. She also carried water for Broud, his boys, and herself, a Clan digging stick, and a woman's flint knife in case she should find some materials for her basket-weaving, which had obviously impressed the younger women of the Clan. They wanted to walk beside her and inspect her weaving, since her skill and technique were quite different than their own. No one could help remembering that Ayla, too, had been highly skilled. In fact, with this new woman of the Others in such high favor with the leader, they allowed themselves to recall what an asset the 'dead' woman had been to their Clan. They thought this Ki-ani might bring them practical benefits, if not luck. Since she had such favor with Broud, and being a practical minded people with strong survival skills, they forgave her for her obviously violent racial origins and looked hopefully on what the young woman might have to offer. Even Ebra had no choice but to admit that the girl's weaving was good and her slight body was stronger than it looked. They hiked up into the mountains, Broud and Goov in the lead and Droog, Grod, and old Zoug guarding the rear, and Kyani sprang up the rocky slopes like a sure-footed she-goat, careful not to pass Broud's mother who still claimed first position among the women. When Uba stumbled Kyani swept to the young medicine woman's side, and Uba leaned heavily on Kyani's slim, strong arm as they crept up through the trees and made their way to the dramatic overlook where Broud had decided to leave the women and children. No one was unimpressed by the gorgeous view of the sun sparkling on the sea to the south, and the brilliant white-capped peaks to the east. Broud called his mother to one side.

"See that the women scout this place for water and easily gathered food," he instructed her, and Ebra in turn commanded the women to spread out.

Broud turned to Kyani, flushing nearly scarlet when they locked eyes. They made no outright obvious gesture of the strange passion and heavy bond that they felt, but they both read it clearly in the other's face; after a moment of this secretive gaze, Broud turned away, heart pounding as he waved to the men. The men gathered up their spears and fell into rank behind him.

Kyani watched him go, almost aching at the sight of him leaving her. Finally she turned to the other women, trying to banish her longing for Broud through seeking to gain a sense for what the women found important to collect. But Uba was most interesting to Kyani; she did not seek out berries or the eggs of mountain-nesting birds, but herbs and flowers. The ginger the day prior had been a hint, and now Kyani watched the young woman kneeling near a cluster of bright yellow flowers that she had seen Myriana gather to tend wounded hunters. Uba was their medicine woman, young though she was. Kyani knelt beside her and said, "Wolfsbane."

Uba did not look up, but she named the herb herself. "It's the roots I want," Uba said, knowing the woman didn't understand but sensing that she wanted to. Ayla had taken a special interest in healing and excelled at it, and Broud had claimed this girl had treated his infected wound as they journeyed back to the Clan. Uba had looked the leader's nasty injury over herself and had been fairly impressed with Kyani's skill. Broud owed the violet-eyed girl his life; perhaps that was the source of the affection between them. Uba could not imagine that Broud had saved Kyani as well, during the vicious battle with a cave lion that had made up Kyani's mind about her future with Uba's leader.

Uba took out her digging stick, but a sharp pain in her lower back prevented her from accomplishing her task. Kyani took over, digging a small hole near a cluster of the flowers and then delicately shaving the roots. She was careful not to cut too much away, which pleased Uba. They spent a pleasant morning and afternoon together, seeking out plants and showing each other new ones, all without any true spoken communication. Soon enough Durc wandered over and told Uba that he was hungry, and Uba and Kyani made a fire and hard boiled several of the large eggs Kyani had snatched from a low nest in a pine tree. There was plenty, and since Ebra was busy, Kyani gestured over Broud's sons and fed them as well.

Grev was the more demonstrative of the two boys, being the younger. He sat down beside Kyani, who thought that the child was still young enough to nurse, at least for comfort if not to bolster his growth. It was plain to her now that Broud's prior mate, the boy's mother, had left this world. Poor boy, she thought, holding out her arms for him. Grev shyly crawled into her lap and soon fell asleep, feeling full and safe at last in a young woman's arms.

"Your son?" Kyani asked Uba, wishing that she was quicker with the language that must become hers.

Uba narrowed her eyes at the strange undulating pattern of sounds. Kyani indicated the boy Grev and said, "Broud." She pointed to Durc and asked, "Uba?"

Uba did not understand, of course. The Clan did not assign paternity, not truly. Kyani's own race was slowly coming to it, and only a handful of the many Cro-Magnon bands travelling through Ice Age Europe assigned paternity themselves. Kyani's band, a more southern tribe that had wound in a slow generational path from the Middle East up through Turkey and into the Ukraine, did. Kyani tried again to make herself understood, and finally it clicked to the Clan woman.

"No," Uba said. "Not Uba's. Durc is Ayla's son. Ayla…" Uba smacked her hands together, sliding them off each other in a gesture of finality. The sorrow in her eyes contributed to Kyani's understanding.

"Ayla…" Kyani said, and then motioned to the sky, the realm of the spirits. Another orphaned child. This could not have been the work of Broud's fight with Drakav and Tarek. Something else had happened to these people, something that deprived them of hunters and young mothers.

Uba nodded. "Durc is mine now," she spoke and gestured.

The boy, Durc, had a different look than the other children. Not only were his limbs straighter and slimmer and his face flatter and more delicate, his dark eyes were haunted. He turned to Kyani and told her bitterly, "Ayla Durc's Mama. Mama went away. Broud made Mama die." The boy made the same gesture, crossing his palms.

"Durc," Uba admonished softly, embarrassed. Broud's new woman did not understand-or did she? Now that Broud had returned, Uba was afraid for the quick, clever boy. The leader had not been interested in the child since his return, but before he had left the animosity shown to Ayla's son was open and harsh. Hopefully this girl would soothe the leader's angry spirit, and he would learn to show kindness to Ayla's son. If not, Uba feared that there would one day be a reckoning between the two of them, Broud and Durc.

"Who is Durc's Father?" Kyani tried again, using Clan words for all but Father, _Ata_. She was wondering why the boy had spoken of Broud. Kyani corrected herself and asked, all in Clan speech, "Ayla's mate? Who was Ayla's mate?" Could it be that there were three brothers, not two? And if so, why did Broud pay no affection to Durc? Broud seemed to take a great pride in his two sons, and he was a deeply affectionate father. Kyani did not believe he could scorn any of his children. And why did Uba care for him, and not Ebra? And was this Ayla woman Broud's dead mate?

Uba shook her head. "Ayla had no mate. She was ugly. I didn't think so, but she was very tall and very pale and she had a Cave Lion totem. She was… Unwomanly. Fierce. She was my sister, and I loved her." Uba stopped, seeing the bewildered look in Kyani's odd eyes. "Ayla had no mate," she repeated.

Kyani stared at the boy Durc, wondering what Uba was going on about, only comprehending that Broud was not Ayla's mate after all. She knew 'no mate' and 'cave lion' and nothing else, and together it made no sense to her. She smiled then, and shrugged carelessly, not wishing to grieve the woman and the child over past losses that could never be repaired now. Uba seemed to have no mate either, so perhaps it was all part of the same riddle. In time, Kyani thought, she would learn. But today the mountain air was crisp and refreshing, and far away they could hear the low moaning of the sea. Kyani stroked Grev's dark hair softly, cradling the sleeping boy gently on her lap.

The hunters returned unsuccessful but undaunted. Goov and Zoug both believed there was a good chance that caves would be found deeper into the chain of mountains. The rocks were right for it. They had found a pure alpine lake and ample game around it, mountain goats and roe deer and even a few giant deer drinking among the flocks of birds. The men knew that other hunters wouldn't be far behind, large cats and wolves and hyenas. Broud was eager to find animals with luxurious warm coats to give to Kyani for rich and beautiful wraps. He had given her the hide of his ibex but it was tough, not like her soft pale doeskin. He was consumed with what she needed now: foot and leg coverings, hoods, even dresses like the odd and attractive one she had tattered on their journey, fringed about the legs and adorned with a pattern of quills around the neck and sleeves. But most important was providing her and all of his people a safe home, high up and far away from roaming bands of chalk-faced warriors and their whistling spears. They would retreat back down to their camp that night, but Broud determined that Uba and Zoug and even Ebra shouldn't make the climb every day. Ebra had deemed the pine-rimmed overlook satisfactory for women's work, and so Broud informed his Clan that they would move the camp on the following morning. On the way home, Broud and Grod took down two of the roe deer, and the Clan enjoyed a dinner of venison combined with the gatherings of their women, which were bountiful as ever. The stars had barely pierced the sky when Broud informed everyone that he was tired, exhausted even. He needed to retire to his shelter with Kyani, right away. Broud, like all of his people, was no good liar. No one was fooled. Ovra snickered to Goov, earning a none-too-serious warning glance in return. Goov admonished her, "He is happy, Ovra. That's good for all of us."

"I am happy too, Goov," Ovra said, throwing an alluring glance over her shoulder.

"I have to talk with the spirits," Goov gestured sheepishly.

Ovra arched her eyebrows teasingly, and sauntered away, throwing her hips provocatively. The young mog-ur growled in a losing dispute with himself and then followed behind, figuring that it was early enough anyway. Finally given a sense of purpose and direction, a lighter mood lifted the spirits of everyone in the Clan, and that couldn't be a bad thing after a year of sorrow.

In Broud's shelter, Kyani, freshly returned from the stream, combed her long hair out. She shivered in the cold, and she shivered with anticipation. She did not want another bad night with the man she adored. She remembered the faint and hopeful feeling that had awakened in her the night before.

Broud undressed slowly, for once full of anxiety around a woman. He could easily pin her down and take what he wanted, she was letting him without too much of a fuss; but how could he make her do those wonderful things again? They watched each other carefully across the fire, lacking the words and the wisdom to achieve their desires. Kyani sensed his greater caution, though, and it made her hopeful. Hadn't she known, from the beginning, that it would be a difficult game of patience and trial between them? She was a delicate girl, but she was no coward. Kyani stripped away her dress and slowly sank down on the furs. Broud, already down on his knees, crawled over to her, helplessly lured by her sweet scent and the raw beauty of the fire glowing off her pale, creamy skin. A sly smile passed over her lips, and she lay on her back as he reached her, a haughty look of challenge in her dazzling violet eyes. She wanted to see his face and kiss his lips as he had her, and she would receive him no other way tonight. Broud followed with unconscious understanding, crawling up over her, his strong arms pinning her in on either side. He looked down on her with a fierce gaze of possession. Kyani's breath came harder. This time would be different; he was different tonight. Kyani pushed herself up slightly on her elbows, and brushed her lips against his. As she backed away, Broud, wanting more of her exotic, entrancing kiss, followed her down. As he eased his weight on top of her and buried his hands in her thick black hair, Kyani yielded her mouth to him. She wrapped her long slim legs around his hips, and thrilled, he understood, taking his pleasure in a slow, deep penetration. The woman beneath him moaned softly with something that sounded like grateful approval, and for the first time, her back arched to meet him and he felt her body soften properly to welcome his. Broud sighed deeply, taking his woman slowly as she lay blissful in his arms. He closed his eyes and learned to let pleasure and peace melt together.

The next day, after venturing around the clear blue lake, Broud and Goov discovered a large cave near the peak of a magnificent, sheltering mountain. Broud sunk his spear into the acidic alpine earth and leaned on its hilt, and for the first time in his adult life, he knew the true satisfaction of having followed his own intuition while having done right by others. Though the spirits would have to anoint it, this was the cave they needed. Broud would earn his people's confidence yet. The hot tempered young leader was content, and his soul felt quiet.


	4. Chapter 4

Drakav and Kieran stood over a blood drenched bit of dirt. Nearby was the carcass of a cave lion that had been picked over by scavengers, leaving little left.

"He couldn't have done this. Not by himself," Kieran said.

Drakav was unconvinced. He had faced Broud in hand to hand combat, and he had wound up running from the fierce, ancient demon. The memory of it still shamed him. He squatted down by the bones, picking up one of the scattered neckbones and studying it carefully. "See here," Drakav said, his voice harsh. "There are nicks from a weapon. And here," he said, lifting one of the long leg bones. "The meat was scraped away, butchered."

Kieran frowned in disbelief, but inwardly he was relieved. He could not imagine gentle Kyani torn apart by a cave lion, the very thought made him sick. "But if they fought it-if _he_ fought it-where is the sign? The blood has stained the earth, but where are the tracks?"

"The storm would have washed it all away, Kieran!" Drakav snapped angrily. He threw the bones down in disgust. "Along with their track home."

"Maybe they're still camped by the river to the sea."

Drakav grunted harshly, tossing his gold hair from his eyes in an arrogant gesture. "I doubt even those animals would be stupid enough to linger after the sport we had with them."

"Maybe we should go home, then. It's almost time to move to the winter camp." Kieran sighed heavily, wishing he had not come on this evil errand. Kyani had made her choice, hadn't she? She could have begged. She could have let them kill the demon and come back to her father, her people. "Maybe we should just leave them alone."

Drakav gave an angry shout. "And let him have her? Do you know- Can you imagine- Such foulness- Such a foul girl!" he sputtered with fury. "She must pay. He must pay! Or do you want him to come after us again, this time with more of his beast people with him?"

Kieran, the weaker of the two, turned away submissively, walking up the mountain. As he did, he had a good view of the steppes behind them and the circular path they had taken to track Kyani and the man of the Old Ones. But then, his eyes caught something in the distance, something hanging over the dark smudge on the horizon that was their forested summer camp. "Drakav! Come look!"

Drakav sprung up, his face still contorted with twisted rage at the thought of Kyani and the demon, together as mates. Hoping that Kieran had sighted them, thirsty for their blood, he leaped up the rocky slope. But when he reached the top he saw that Kieran was not looking down on two small figures crossing the steppes. Kieran's gaze was out in the distance, towards their camp, where an ominous plume of black smoke rose into the sky.

Broud and his three hunters set out early on the trail of a herd of bison that were lumbering across a low valley between two thickly wooded mountains. They had just taken advantage of one of the benefits of the potential cave sight: a nearby jutting promontory that offered a panoramic view of the lands below and beyond, exposing whatever animals-and enemies-that might be passing through.

As if sent by Ursus himself, the bison had followed the tall grasses into the perfect trap. From Broud's lofty position he had watched as the animals had come nearly single file along a wide, shallow but swift stream that ran down the mountainside and between two tall cliffs to the steppes beyond. Broud was especially fond of this narrow passage, for it was one of the only obvious ways from the lowlands up to the cave he was considering. Outlanders could only creep in slowly, in full sight, and they would not know the mountain paths that could give them escape. For the bison it was all but hopeless; they were not agile enough to bolt up the rocky, forested slopes. If Broud chose to block the passage at the northwest end, they could only race in a wide helpless circle.

Yet that would make them more dangerous, and Broud could not afford to lose men. It was a novice mistake he had made hunting the Others. He had trapped them as he would trap a mammoth, and they had fought all the more viciously for it. Broud was especially eager for today's hunt to go off safe and well, for it was the hunt that would signal the spirits' approval or disapproval of Broud's chosen cave. Broud took it as a fortuitous omen that he was hunting the same beast whose killing had made him a man seven years before. He could almost feel Brun at his side today, as the hunters crept down the mountain's flank under the blue shadows of tall pines.

They reached a narrow bank, and Broud signaled to the men to come closer. He had his strategy. He would not circle around to the northwest, giving the creatures no chance for escape once they stampeded. The narrowing passage would pose a nearly equal danger left open, though. The animals would press closer together, rushing for freedom. Cutting the herd would have to be done with lightning precision, and well before they reached the gap in the mountains.

It was Broud's choice to select the animal, but he was well experienced by now. And after taking a cave lion down single-handedly, the inner turmoil of doubt and fear of failure that had so often tormented Broud was utterly scorched from his mind. Broud was cooler even than Brun had been, when the day was Brun's seven years ago. Broud knew already that this cave was his, that it was perfect for his purpose of protecting his people from another attack. He was ready to make the final test. He had pure confidence in his own skill as a hunter, and in his fellow hunters. Broud was ready to offer it all up to the spirits, sure that they would find Broud and his choices worthy. While still under the cover of the pines he raised his free hand and spoke with silent gestures, imparting the strategy to Grod, Goov, and Droog.

They fanned out, staying in each other's sight line but far enough away so that each man had a fair distance to cover on his own. Broud now set himself to examining the herd. This could take a great deal of time. He was far enough above them to have a view of the entire herd slowly lumbering past, yet close enough to smell their sharp, thick scent and hear the low, throaty rumbles they made as they searched for sweeter grass. There were big males on the outside, animals that could mangle a hunter with one swing of their massive horned heads. Beyond them he could see smaller females and their calves, only a few moons old. The best time for bison was in the early spring just when the sap began to rise, when females were heavily pregnant. Now, the slowest animals were the calves and the old or weak. Broud didn't want a calf; nor did he want an old, wiry muscled animal that Kyani and the other women would have to pound mightily just to make it a little less tough to chew. Signaling the other men to wait behind in their places, he decided to take time to roam a bit, to find a better view. Perhaps there was a young animal that he could trick into running the wrong way, or an injured animal that would be slow to run.

The heavily muscled hunter passed through the pines without making a sound. This was his territory, his comfort zone, and his feet were light on the rocky soil padded with fallen needles. He wound his way slowly through the tall, thick trees, keeping his eyes on the herd even though there were glorious sights to see in the mountainous paradise. The deep evergreens were nearly black in the early morning light and they perfumed the air with a rich but fresh aroma that enlivened Broud's senses. In the distance was the gentle melody of falling water, and as Broud worked his way along the mountainside he found not one but two thin waterfalls, one cascading down terraces of rocky banks, one plunging like a delicate silver rope from a craggy cliff hundreds of feet above his head, pouring into a crystalline pool bordered with gentle, rounded granite boulders and thick clutches of massive green ferns. On the far edge of the pool a doe and her spotted fawn lapped up a morning drink, undisturbed by Broud's slinking gait.

Broud moved through the shadows, leaving his men farther and farther behind. His eyes picked over the herd on the valley floor with a deadly mixture of trained precision and deeply embedded instinct. There were four who caught his eye for varying reasons, two of whom he dismissed as too sick to make a fitting meal for his people's cave feast. The other two he poured all his polished attention on, seeking out their individual characteristics and noting the meandering path of their grazing. Both were young and foolish animals, shunning the safety of the herd to greedily seek the taller grass that grew around the rocky feet of the mountain. Broud crouched down for a moment to study them, spear in hand.

The sound was so faint at first that his subconscious almost dismissed it. But then, a cracking fallen branch, the crunch of dried orange pine needles, alerted Broud to the presence of another creature above him on the mountain slope. He stayed down and thought of the doe and her fawn moving through the forest, but the fine hairs on the back of his neck rose and he remembered the cave lion that had stalked him two weeks back.

The sound came again, and Broud's heart began to beat a little harder. He strained to hear and was doubly alarmed when the footfalls of the intruder did not beat a one-two-three-four pattern, but a distinctly human gait. Immediately he thought of the chalk-bleached faces and the screams of the demons who had murdered Oga and Brun. His thigh ached where one of the fell creatures had slashed him during his revenge attack. He remembered the sense of being stalked over the open steppe, a sense just like the one that now rose from his guts to the tips of his fingers, curling around his spear.

They had found him at last.

Broud stood up and lunged around in one deft motion, swinging his spear high over his head, ready to impale the man of the Others who had dared to follow him into this high mountain retreat.

Instead of the chalk-bleached skull face, he brought his spear down on the chest of the six year old boy Brac. With a savage growl, Broud yanked his arm back, the hardened point of the spear a breath away from the boy's heaving chest. "Brac!" he shouted. Then, not wanting to alert the bison and ruin the hunt-if it was not ruined already-Broud demanded in a low voice and harsh gestures, "What are you doing here? What are you thinking, sneaking up on me like an enemy, like a predator? I almost ran you through!"

The boy gasped, wide eyed. He had dropped the miniature spear in his hand and now stood stunned with terror at the primal rage he had witnessed in the face of his dead mother's mate.

"Speak," Broud demanded, furious.

"I-I wanted to help you," Brac stammered, frightened. "You said you needed hunters. I can hunt! I can be a man! I can help you." The boy became more emphatic with each gesture. "I can help our people, like you."

Broud's rage fled as swiftly as it came, though his body took longer to cool than his mind. The unneeded adrenaline made the leader quiver slightly. "You're too young, Brac. I was eleven when I made my first kill. You are seven. You could have ruined the hunt for us."

"Oh," Brac said, abashed. He cast his eyes down, humiliated.

Broud sighed, and put his hand on the boy's slender shoulders. "You have much to learn, but you are brave already to come down here by yourself. If you promise you won't make a sound-no matter _what_ happens-then I will let you watch us."

Joy returned to the boy's face. Broud shook his head in disbelief, but he brought the boy down a ways to a boulder where he would have a view of the hunt. For a moment man and boy watched the herd, which remained undisturbed, their left hands on their hips and their right hands holding up their spears, the twin image of each other. Broud then returned to his work, wondering where Oga's son got his nerve.

Though the women and Zoug-who was the only left behind to guard the women and children alone because of the importance of the hunt and the safety of their location-had been frantic over Brac's disappearance, the hunt went off well and everyone was thrilled that the spirits had sanctioned the new cave. Kyani thumped her hand to her heart in relief to see Broud returning dusty and sweaty and bloody but unharmed, dragging and carrying a bison with his men, with young Brac trotting proudly beside his father. Once the bison was set down Kyani ran to Broud and nearly flew into his arms. Only her perception of Clan etiquette stopped her. Instead she looked over the felled bison and said, with elegant, practiced gestures and soft Clan words, "Broud kills all beasts."

He would have grinned if it had been his way. He put his arm around her waist and pulled her close for just a minute, only until he caught his breath, the most affection he dared to show before his people in the light of day. He then gave Kyani a rough little push, purely playful, sending her over to where the women had begun digging a large pit at the mouth of Broud's new cave. She smothered her laughter and went on to her work.

The following morning enormous cuts of bison were laid into the pit. Kyani had been especially anxious to make a stew, and she had studied the language hard so that she would have the occasion to ask Broud if she might now take over some cooking. A typical Clan man, he had grunted and shrugged her off while inwardly glowing at her interest. Now she stirred a bubbling hide sack of meat, herbs and root vegetables carefully, inhaling the rich scents of the broth. She closed her eyes only for a minute and imagined her father lying in his shelter, waiting for her to finish cooking. She would have to trust in the Great Mother that her father was well. She couldn't grieve anymore, because she believed firmly that she had found her true mate and her destiny. Broud's soul spoke at once to her desire for security, and to the inner joyful wildness in her, both to the fragile girl who huddled behind a strong man and to the free primitive woman who spun laughing and shrieking in the first rain of the season.

The Clan was anxious for the ceremony, and Kyani sensed that something extraordinary would happen on this day. There seemed to be a whole series of rituals connected with settling into a new cave, and Kyani wished to learn everything she could about the religious life of her mate. Uba had gone off with Goov, the holy man, and the rest of the men lingered around Broud in animated discussion. Broud's sons, left out of the men's conversations, were put to work by Broud's flame haired mother Ebra but they were rowdy boys and who were easily distracted, flinging stones at small animals and clashing sticks with each other, trying to best each other. Kyani did not know that this was a new game for Clan boys, one that disturbed the elders. The trauma of the attack bled out of them in this way: they made sport of attacking each other, knowing somewhere in their consciousness that their prey was no longer restricted to the four-legged kind, and the days of peace were over. Eventually Aga abandoned the roast she was tending to collect Groob. She set him down with a pile of stones, hammers and chunks of flint that Droog, the toolmaker, found unsuitable for professional use. Ebra reprimanded Brac and Grev and set them to gathering wood for the fires that would burn late into the night. Only Durc, Uba's adopted son, was left alone. Slowly, he wandered over to Kyani's hearth, staring at her over the stew with his unsettling, mournful eyes.

It was Durc's eyes that bothered Kyani the most. Obviously in any small band such as this, no one was too distantly related. Even among her own kind, blood was strongly shared among all the members, and this was a source of pride. But Durc's eyes were unsettlingly familiar. They struck hard at her heart, the way her lover's eyes did. They were Broud's eyes, and she knew it. But Ayla was unmated, and women did not have sexual relations until they had a mate among Kyani's people. Yet in Kyani's band, medicine women and their acolytes often handled the initiation of boys before their mating, because harmony between mated couples was highly valued, and successful and pleasurable intimacy was essential to that. Perhaps Ayla was a medicine woman. But then, Broud's prior innocence for all but his own sexual enjoyment proved that there was no such concern in this tribe. Besides, Broud-Kyani was sure-disliked the boy; and there was no good reason for that, unless he had greatly disliked Durc's mother.

Or perhaps she was going too far. Maybe Durc was Broud's nephew, or some other relation, the child of some relative he hadn't gotten on well with. Maybe it was a chance of fate that the dark gaze was the same between man and boy. And maybe it meant nothing that she saw the same demons in the boy's soul that she had first seen in Broud's, before he trusted her.

Kyani motioned Durc to her, careful to show her smile in her eyes and not on her lips. The boy crept closer, extremely wary of Broud's beloved, intended mate. "Durc hungry?"

Durc nodded. Kyani scooped some of the savory broth into the bone spoon and blew carefully on it, testing the temperature on her own lips before offering it to the child. He drank, watching her with frightened, angry eyes the whole time. But the broth warmed his belly and the taste was delicious. Kyani thought it was missing a certain spice, and she motioned to Durc to retrieve it for her. She set the boy to small tasks, but though he was helpful, he was slow to warm to her. Poor boy, Kyani thought again. His mother's death has damaged his spirit. She was now the leader's mate, or something very like it. Kyani would have to take especial care, as the years went by, to draw the boy out, and seek and nurture his talents. He liked to help her, but when left to his own, she noticed that he chose to sit and listen to the whispers of the wind, as if he was waiting for the spirit world to send him some word or comfort. She did not notice Broud's eyes following the scene, a remote and unsettled look on his face.

Uba reappeared to collect Durc then, her hand over her growing belly. Kyani stood and asked, "Uba not well? Hurt? Sick?"

Uba shrugged and gestured, "Always. It doesn't matter. Did Durc eat?"

"Some stew," Kyani told her. She felt a flush of pleasure each time she had one of these small conversations with a Clan member. Of course with Broud, they spoke with their bodies, with their passion and their eyes and their souls. But just yesterday the most abstract discussion had taken place, when Ebra had explained, as they dug the great pit before the cave and lined it with stone, that the pit was for roasting meat as well as for providing a fire to keep predators away from the cave. Kyani had felt a thrill of excitement as the gestures and words locked together in her mind. She thought that the Clan language was infinitely more passionate and expressive than her own, which relied on spoken word alone. Her own people were excellent hunters as well, but both Clan language and customs were derived from a far more patriarchal, hunting-dominated society than Kyani's; a society that had been shaped by the hard Ice Age environment and the massive herds of cold-weather game that would spook and trample men at a careless sound. Though her own life had played out in the cold European mountains and plains, Kyani's people had done the bulk of their evolving in a lush tropical paradise where thick fruits dripped from the trees in every season of the year and men could afford to spend far more time pondering delicate abstractions and inventing new toys than scratching out a living. It was the Ice Age with its drying conditions that had long ago driven Kyani's kind out of their tropical African paradise, which had gradually turned into a brutal Saharan desert. Now at the end of the Ice Ages, or rather on the verge of the great intermission, the Sahara was shrinking and dampening again, the great Nile River was filling on monsoon rains, and even the freshwater sea that moaned beneath Broud's mountain retreat was rising towards a day when the salty waters of a Southern Sea that would later be called Mediterranean would embrace it and create one of the richest regions for trade and seafaring that mankind would ever know. But none of this meant a thing to Kyani, who, enduring a crash emersion course in Clan language, was finally experiencing the rapid clicking of her powerful and unique mind which would allow her to communicate fully with her beloved new mate and her new Clan.

Kyani was quite caught up with her new life, but something about the positioning of Uba's hands on her ripening belly struck a deep chord in the young Cro-Magnon woman. Three nights ago, the moon had swollen to full. Kyani's lips fell softly apart as she looked at Uba's pregnant body and realized that her own time to bleed should soon be upon her, and yet she had felt no warning cramps. She touched her own flat stomach softly, hopefully, a sign which Uba did not miss. Kyani took a sharp breath and looked back up at the Clan medicine woman. She motioned to the woman's round belly and said, in her own tongue, "Baby. What is the word for baby?"

Uba gestured to Durc to stay put. She sat down carefully beside Kyani and gave the Clan word. Kyani's totem had not yet been identified, but the foreign woman was seemingly indicating that her totem, whatever it was, had been defeated, or that she was hopeful that it soon would be defeated. Uba had little doubt whose potent spirit had won or would win the battle; the entire Clan had heard a disturbing battle between them only a few nights ago.

"Broud's baby," Kyani murmured dreamily in Clan language, thinking along a similar but profoundly different line. She offered a small smile as she prayed inwardly to the Great Mother that she might soon bear Broud a son or daughter. A daughter, Kyani thought, let me have a daughter to mate with one of the other two little boys.

Uba raised her brows, thinking that the girl was quite a romantic fool to assume she knew which spirit would defeat hers, even though Kyani was only ever in close proximity to Broud. The women spent only a few more moments together, before Uba took Durc and went to seek out Goov. She caught the medicine man at his work and asked, "Has Ki-ani's totem spirit revealed itself to you yet?"

Goov frowned. "No, woman. Why do you ask? What concern is it of yours?"

Uba reverted to formal speech and said, "This woman thinks the mog-ur ought to consider it, and soon."

Goov flustered and admitted, "I consider it all the time as Broud requested. Why?"

Uba made a sweet noncommittal gesture, saying mysteriously, "We are so lucky now, with the new cave. We wouldn't want any unmated woman to fall for a child."

Goov furrowed his brow. "Has she told you that she has?"

"This woman sees it coming, and fast." Uba waited for Goov, disturbed, to wave her off in dismissal. She took Durc by the hand and returned to her hearth, to prepare a potent hallucinogen for the men and a milder datura tea for the women.

Goov had spent a great deal of time watching Kyani, though he was ever careful not to let Broud see this. The jealous leader prized his new woman as highly as his own life, as evidenced by the thoughtless way Broud told him that he had flown at the cave lion as well as his constant attention to her. Now, in the short break before the cave ceremony, Goov watched as the two walked together, set against the dramatic backdrop of white-capped mountains, their heads tilted close though they shared very little speech. For a moment Goov considered how perfectly fitting Broud's wooly rhinoceros totem was. Though thick skinned and careless of its own pain when wounded, the animal was otherwise unpredictable and high tempered. The spirit of the creature was known among holy men to bring high emotional sensitivity to those who followed its path. More of a loner than the other herd animals, Broud's totem was vicious when provoked or deterred from its chosen path. Goov narrowed his eyes, remembering also what Creb had once told him. Though seemingly stubborn, the spirit of the woolly rhinoceros was actually keen for new paths. Certainly, Broud's totem had some strange plan in mind. The traditional minded young leader had, in a few short days, laid down new laws for the Clan regarding their hunting and new qualifications for their cave site; changes which would Brun would have spent weeks considering. Perhaps Broud's rashness was necessary for all of their survival. Unlike customary Clan leaders, Broud was reaching his majority in a time of rapid change. Creb had been filled with despair at the coming of this new age, and as a child Broud had feared the new winds so strongly that Ayla, the symbol of the changing times, had easily pushed Broud to a level of violence that was considered unworthy of a man; just as his totem animal would attack and gore any creature big or small with such ferocity that many hunters were loathe to tangle with it. Goov sensed, though, that Broud was right in his intense hatred for the Others. His own visions had shown him two lanky trackers on the steppes with bleached, skeletal faces and eyes filled with evil intentions. Goov had no doubt that they were out there and he thought that they had moved just in time. The other men had secretly doubted their new leader and longed for Brun, who had been slow to act and who carefully considered all paths. But Brun had never been hunted himself, as Broud had been both in his nightmares and now in reality.

Goov wondered what Brun would think of Broud now, going out to kill men of the Others yet returning with one of their women who he was obviously infatuated with. Broud had loved Oga, but Goov had never seen his leader and his friend so twisted up over a woman. It would have amused Goov was he not so sure that Ursus was at work, though the mighty Guardian of the Clan would not yet reveal his true purpose to Goov.

Goov turned his attention to Kyani. He could not help but admit, like all the other Clan men, that this girl was almost frighteningly attractive. Her facial features were delicate as Ayla's had been, but Ayla had been sharp and chiseled, with a square face, wide cheeks, and a slight cleft chin. Kyani was full of soft ovals and smoothed lines that were a token of femininity to both races of men. She was small and slender with a waist that all the Clan men had imagined, more than once, fitting their hands around completely. Yet had Broud not said that the girl was fierce when he had been threatened by her people? Only Goov knew the full story of the pair's meeting. Still, Kyani's first lesson had been never again to touch a killing tool, and Broud was certain that the girl would obey him. The other men wondered about this, but Goov had seen it himself: while Ayla had struggled with the notion of a man's dominance, Kyani seemed to enjoy paying the proper respect to Broud. It delighted the young woman to please the leader. In the short while that she had been with the Clan, Goov had watched Kyani adapt fluidly to Clan ways. She was easy tempered and changeable, and though she seemed to sense her own high value, it didn't harden her the way it would many women. Goov thought that Kyani, once fully trained, would make a good mate for a Clan leader. The attractive, supple-bodied girl, with her pale skin and luxurious black hair, had a truly feminine dignity about her. Goov stood up and walked away from the Clan. There was still time before the required preparations were made, and he needed to consult with the spirits before giving full weight to the image that was forming in his mind.

Twilight fell. Broud beckoned Kyani to the mouth of the cave, where the others waited. It was a smaller mouth than their old cave had possessed, which served Broud's purpose better. But inside was just as vaulted and wide, and in the back, there was also an additional chamber for the skull of Ursus to rest, a sacred looking space that was full of stalactites and stalagmites. A small pool was deep in the corner of this room, fed by a stream that disappeared under the back wall. It would serve for emergency water, if ever needed.

Now Broud held Kyani's hips from behind as he stood before the women, considering carefully though he knew the order would certainly change after tonight. Goov had given him a small nod only moments ago, indicating that Broud's great desire could happen tonight as he had hoped. "Ebra, Uba, Ki-ani, Uka," he decided, pushing his new woman in third position. He nodded to himself, and then backed off to take his place as first among the men. Kyani sensed that the positioning was very important, indicative of rank, and she was glad that Broud possessed the sensitivity not to place her before his mother Ebra, the boss of the women.

She watched as the older man Grod came forward, nursing a smoking coal wrapped in a protective hide carrying torch stuffed full of dried grasses. Earlier in the day, before the delicious feast they had shared, Kyani had helped the women dig another, smaller fire pit inside the cave. It was now piled high with wood and kindling. Grod's approach was solemn and ceremonial, and he knelt with reverence to start the new fire. Kyani sensed all the energies of the Clan focusing on the sparking of this first fire, released by a soft sigh as the fire caught and pungent smoke began to rise up to the high ceiling of the cave. Kyani drew her breath when light filled the chamber. There were stalactites rising in the corners, reaching to the stalagmites that reached down to glistening points where over the millennia, driplets of water had pushed through the mountain above, leaving shining deposits of calcium on the ever growing rock formations. Someone had already entered the cave and sectioned areas off with rocks, including a wide section near the mouth of the cave half-screened by more of the giant, gorgeous conical formations. She recognized Broud's thick, sumptuous furs laid out beside a stone circle, and his spears and tools carefully ordered in the shadows beyond. This place was to be Kyani's home now, and she was amazed and pleased.

They set about lighting the smaller fires of their hearths, until the entire cave glowed with that ultimate symbol of human life, controlled fire. Only then did Kyani realize that the men had slipped away. Ebra caught her eyes quickly, and motioned Kyani to sit near the central fire with the boys Brac and Grev. It was then that Kyani saw the apparition at the back of the cave, a creature half-bear, half-man, a creature that could control fire and make it dance and fall like stars from the sky. After a moment she realized that it was Goov, under the possession of the spirits, his face blooded with red ochre, the skull of the giant cave bear enclosing his own face. It was something out of a nightmare, or a vision, and Kyani drew Grev closer to her automatically. The young boy was trembling. Brac sat up taller, his curious dark eyes wide. Across the cave, sitting alone, Kyani saw the boy Durc staring hard at the holy man, far too keen a look on his face than a toddler should ever wear. Kyani thought it was a mistake to leave him alone, but she could not get up and bring the child over. Then the drumming began then, as Zoug beat out a hard rhythm and the men leapt into sight.

The Clan was transported as the three men re-enacted their hunt, minus Goov, with such thrilling detail and precision that every spectator felt themselves drawn in to the fatal drama of the cave hunt. Kyani's smile became wide, for Broud was watching her, playing to her above all others, both enthralling her and telling her in the only way he could about a part of his life that was closed off to her. The energy was wild and celebratory, overseen by the holy man standing over the fire, overseen, too, by something more, an unseen source of energy that Kyani suddenly, with a shiver down her spine, came to recognize as the ancient, frightening, and powerful spirits of the Clan.

After the captivating climax Broud came to join her, breathing hard, his heart pounding in his throat. When he squatted beside her, Kyani searched carefully for the words and told him softly, "I did not know: Broud is a storyteller as well." She repeated this in her language, because her word carried so much more of what she meant to say; a bard, even a sort of shaman, one who moves others with words and impassioned acting.

"Much you don't know," he said gruffly, his eyes dancing in the firelight. He fell quiet then, mirroring the silence that had suddenly fallen over the festive ceremony.

From the fire, the holy man called to Kyani. Shocked, she looked to Broud, who nodded. He rose with her, brought her forward to the frightening looking mog-ur. He remembered his own sharp fear when he had stood before Creb years ago, and he hovered close to Kyani as if seeking to guard her from the terrifying and powerful spirits who ruled their world. When Goov spoke, his words and gestures carried an odd resonance. Goov had already been transported by a heavy narcotic drink, and tonight he did not speak for himself, but for Ursus.

"Woman of the Others! Tonight, you are born anew to this world, born into the Clan."

Kyani's lips parted, her eyes locked on the holy man. He went on to speak of Ursus, not for her benefit-she could not follow him very well-but for the benefit of the Clan who would have to accept this woman, along with accepting the change that was slowly but relentlessly coming to their ancient and ordered world. Once Goov's intentions were announced and the Clan prepared, the mog-ur did what had been done for Ayla so long ago. He adopted her into the Clan, throwing aside a part of his heavy bearskins to reveal a pot of red ochre mixed with the fat of the cave bear. He drew a line carefully from her hairline down to the tip of her nose, anointing her as a newborn Clan female.

"Double-faced spirit of the ermine, you have spoken to announce your guardianship over this woman Ki-ani, who like you, changes skins to walk in two worlds. We ask you to watch over her always, and guide her on her journey through this life."

Broud glowed with pleasure. Goov had not included him in the decision or informed him what totem had presented itself to the mog-ur. Broud thought that the luxurious coated ermine was a fitting totem for the young woman. The ermine was a highly prized creature of beauty and nobility, soft and small yet strong, a carnivore itself, deeply brave for its delicate stature. And as Goov said, the creature had two faces. In the summer it was a gorgeous sable brown, but in the winter it revealed itself in an even more stunning presentation, the pure white of moonlight with a solid black tip on its tail. Quite fitting for a woman raised Other and yet born anew to the Clan; her totem would help the people understand how she could be raised so, and still be a good Clan woman. Even Kyani's coloring matched the creature's winter coat: her flawless ivory skin that was seemingly lit from within, and her luxurious black mane that tumbled to her hips.

Goov made a small, quick gesture to Broud, who frowned a moment because he had never seen a woman marked with the ermine's symbol. Yet though Broud might argue or order Goov the hunter, he would not now question his mog-ur. He stepped before Kyani, meeting her eyes as he slowly loosened the shoulder stays of the hasty Ibex hide dress she had not even completed, but worn to the special ceremony anyway. Kyani drew a sharp breath as Broud let her dress spill down to her hips. Broud admired her tiny waist and round, firm breasts before gently taking her about the hips and turning her back to Goov, so that she faced the anxious Clan. His jealousy ignited as he heard a few quick gasps from the men, who had never gazed upon such a delicate manifestation of female beauty; until he realized that soon there would be no chance any other man could touch his prize. Kyani's own breath came quick and hard, and she kept her eyes lowered to the floor, her bright violet gaze hidden by her long black lashes. Broud gathered up her soft, thick black hair and pulled it over her left shoulder, exposing her smooth back to the mog-ur. He backed away then, content to gaze on his woman as she stood humble and shivering but brave and still, her back to the frighteningly arrayed holy man. She felt a cool touch on her right shoulder blade, and made out what he painted in red ochre: a small open circle, and then beneath it, on an angle, a straight line; and then, beneath the line and on the opposite side of the open circle, he pressed a dot of paint, a closed circle. Slowly, with all the majesty and mystery that Creb had taught him, Goov paced around Kyani. He stood before her and hung the amulet that Ebra had made that day in secret around Kyani's neck. Subtly, quietly, he leaned down and murmured, "Welcome, Ki-ani."

Now the mog-ur motioned to Broud, who was expecting it. With a deep sigh of satisfaction, Broud stepped back beside Kyani and murmured, "Sit down, here."

Curious, Kyani lowered herself to the floor of the new cave, just before the thick fur wraps that covered Broud's strong calves. She didn't want to look up, but couldn't help it when Broud removed the wrap over his chest to reveal the deep, hooked slashes that had been cut into his flesh seven years before. The holy man now produced another bowl, and with yellow ochre carefully duplicated the ermine sign over the wicked black scars. And then, over that, the double hooks were traced again, blurring the ermine symbol. Kyani's face flushed as she understood, and tears blurred her sight. She bowed her head, realizing that not only had she been accepted, she was at her own mating ceremony, which had been tied to the cave ceremony. Kyani felt that it was a great honor. She strained to pick out the words as Goov said, "Spirit of Wooly Rhinoceros, totem of Broud, leader of the Clan, you have defeated the Spirit of Ermine, totem of Ki-ani. Broud, do you accept this woman as your mate?"

"Forever," Broud said. He reached down and brushed his fingers over Kyani's bare shoulder and she looked up, and Broud saw that there was water again in her sunset eyes, though there was no misery on her face but a deep and profound joy, and honor. Broud took her slender fingers in his hand and lifted his mate from the ground, and she did not guard her smile as he pulled her into his arms. Several Clan members gasped at this, even as the rest were learning to expect anything from their leader. They did not realize or even understand the depths of Broud's emotion: he had cared for Oga, very much, but Broud knew on this night that Kyani was the woman chosen for him by Ursus Himself, and the powerful desire he felt to hold and touch his new mate was nothing short of what was due such a gift.

Goov had determined that their crossing of the steppes was isolation enough for the pair, who had already been living as mates. Broud took his mate away from the ceremony, which lulled to an intermission as the mog-ur and the medicine woman prepared the next part. And soon enough, Broud told Kyani to rejoin the women. She looked about for Uba, but it was Ebra who again made a place for her. Uba came out then, naked and painted. She first made the men's drink, and then she offered a drink from a bowl of strongly flavored tea to each woman. Yet another brew was offered to the children, and in only moments, Ebra lifted the groggy boy Brac and Kyani picked up a sleeping Grev, and the women carried them to Broud's new hearth. There were four thick sleeping rolls around the dancing fire: one large set of furs that Broud and Kyani would share, one each for the little boys, and another, removed a ways, where Ebra would now live. They were a family now. For the first time in her life, Kyani had a full family. Ebra caught Kyani as she went to rejoin the group. Kyani bowed her head before the tough older woman who had shown such dislike for her in the first days.

"Ki-ani," Ebra said sternly, and the younger woman looked up in trepidation. She watched and listened closely, as Ebra spoke quite slowly for Kyani to understand. "You please my son, Ki-ani. That is not easy to do. You honor him. You are as a daughter to me now. Do you understand my words?"

Kyani bowed her head again. She had caught but one in three words of what Ebra had spoken, but with the older woman's tone, it was enough for her. "Thank you, Ebra."

The edges were beginning to blur in Kyani's mind. When she returned to the center fire the men had vanished again, and Uba was beginning to make her own drum sing. Before Kyani's eyes the women enlivened, young and old. They cast away their wraps and swayed to the pumping rhythm, and as the drug worked its way into their blood they began a wild dance. Ona and Ovra swung their hips together erotically, Ika and Uka stomped and spun to the hard beat. Even stoic Ebra, with her hair of ice and flame, began a dance of intricate steps that was purely magical to witness. Kyani had never beheld the Clan women in all their feminine power, on full display as it was here. She was reminded of the dances Myriana and her acolyte did for the Great Mother, and though the Clan's greatest spirit was Ursus, Kyani for the first time witnessed that Clan women had a true and ancient spirituality of their own which certainly must please the Mother. Kyani watched as an outsider for a long while before finally, the spirits of the Clan seized her and spun her into her own reverie. She danced out her wild joy for having found Broud and been so honored to be made his mate on such an auspicious night. She danced her grief for her lost father-not knowing he had horribly died in Sara's fire-letting her sorrow and longing out at last. She danced her prayers for a child, a daughter of mixed spirits, and offered her dance to Ursus and the Great Mother both.

In the deep back of the cave, the men who appeared to be sitting very still were on their own journey. Goov was not yet as skilled as Creb and perhaps could never be: that time had passed for the Clan. But still, he was well trained and capable, and he led them, as always, through a journey that began in the origins of all life. The men of the Clan rejoiced in their deep and ancient connection to the cold northern earth that had shaped them, their bodies melting into the rich loamy soil, springing up into the tallest of ancient trees, pulled physically through the countless generations of men wild with the hunt, full of pure raw joy. It was this deep communion that gave each man their strongest sense of self, along with an ecstatic bliss, but suddenly Broud found himself torn away from the others. Goov, the leader now on this spiritual quest, felt the violent tear but did nothing as he sensed that a will greater than his own had just broken through the mental link of the men.

Broud, suddenly, was alone, and around him he felt the horror of death. He felt the disgusting rotting of flesh and then worse, a complete emptiness. His entire being rebelled with all the violence that his spirit could summon but it was utterly useless. The old nightmare crept back in, slowly at first, but then wildly swinging, cruelly pulling the Clan leader into its most terrifying dimensions. And there, in the middle of it all, the image of a woman shimmered together. It was Ayla and it was a goddess, a powerful goddess as bright and gold as the burning sun, who spun around a roaring fire, tearing spirits from the sky as she wove her deft magic with each intricate step. Her laughter burned Broud with an intense, blistering heat and with her hands she unleashed dozens, then hundreds of bleach-faced demons who swung at first strange spears and then other weapons, small spears thrown with the bent bows of trees and carved horns of great beasts, and then other things for which Broud had no understanding at all. Their attack was all the worse because they would not give him honest battle at all, they would not even see him; they were painted like skulls but he was no more than a ghost, choked off by their evil intentions from food and earth and even breath.

His body began to die as the demons worked their will over him, as the potent drugs ravaged his body and mind together. He felt himself pulled into his own earth, his beloved land, but it only wanted to swallow him. If Broud had known a word for hell he would have defined this as such. And then, at that most horrifying moment everything burned away, and _she_ was standing there, on the edge of a cool green forest, her wide violet eyes pools of relief and comfort. She beckoned him and he ran to her in his mind, away from torment and anonymous, useless death. But Kyani ran then, through the deep primordial forest, leaping ferns and mossy logs and gurgling, frigid streams as gracefully as a doe. The hunters spark lit within the soul of Broud and in his mind he bolted for her, feeling the sweet rush of blood and adrenaline as his powerful stride opened up and he chased her down. Up they ran, higher and higher into the mountains until they reached the promontory a ways from the new cave where Kyani stopped, and turned to him.

And she was not alone. In his vision Broud skidded to a terrified stop, for Ursus was there, and not the imitation of Goov or Creb or even the cave bear he had once fought at the Clan Gathering, but the God of his people, the essence of them.

"Come," Kyani told him, and he slid his hand into hers, and at once the world swung violently. There was tearing and blood and screams, all the violence of birth, and a great spinning form, a double helix, tore in two. Broud felt the tearing and the bleeding from his own body as he stood in awe. And from the white hot fire that engulfed the spot where Ursus had stood a great golden eagle rose, spreading its wings and screaming as it mounted the wind. Broud and Kyani, hand in hand, watched the creature in awe as sometimes it was the eagle and sometimes a great dragon, and he soared over the wide plains and mountains of Europe and then, as they watched, he flew on in his endless dominion. The beast that was once Ursus soared over great, endless bodies of crashing water into dark jungles and deep forests, over vast plains, until finally it came to rest at the top of a great stone mountain that had been shaped-Broud knew-by the strong hands of men. And then there was peace.

Broud looked down on Kyani and to his utter delight, there were two children under her arms, beautiful flame haired girls and they were laughing and unharmed, and they were goddesses unto themselves. Kyani laughed as well and sent them off into the world, but first they turned to Broud and embraced him, gazing up on him with a love so pure that it melted his heart. One had eyes of violet, like her; the other had incredible deep set dark eyes, Broud's own eyes in a face flawless by the standard of any race of men. They ran off, through fields of swaying lavender towards the great tower where they joined with others, children with pale skins and hair of red and earth and black and even gold. Some built on the tower with stone and some danced, beautiful women and strong, stoic men who dreamed in the clouds yet toiled tirelessly in the earth.

"It is _our_ world," Kyani told him, breathing in his ear, her lips caressing his skin. Her hands lay over her belly and now it not flat and tight but ripe and goddess-full, and suddenly Broud ripped away.

The men around him were still in mediation, but delirious Broud stood, and stumbling drunk he passed through the narrow corridor into the outer cave where the women lay exhausted around the dying fires. Ravenously he searched for her, and found her, laying naked on her back, eyes closed, her hands pillowing her head. Broud snatched Kyani up out of her sweet dream of prayer and she gasped in surprised delight. He carried her to his new hearth and set her down with the greatest of reverence, his need pounding his body and mind to death. On a carpet of soft furs he pushed her legs up, clasping them around the back of her thighs beneath her knees so that her legs fell bent and wide, and he took her with a passionate violence, as if he would beat his soul into the very earth she lay on, claiming her and it and all the world for his very own.


	5. Chapter 5

The ground was scorched black. The majestic pines were blackened skeletons, and the only remaining signs of human habitation were piles of ashes already almost entirely carried off by the autumn winds. Drakav sank down to the charred ground, touching his fingertips to the earth, trying to imagine the horrific end that so many of his people had suffered. _How had it happened?_

"People survived," Kieran said, making his way around the perimeter. "I can see where they dragged their possessions away. I can see tracks, faint tracks. Whoever survived has moved on, likely to the winter camp. We should follow them."

Drakav did not want to move on. He wanted revenge. He wanted Kyani to die, that shameful woman who had rejected his honorable offer only to mate with a beast! He wanted to avenge his hunters. But his people had endured this calamity, and who knew if his elderly father had survived? Drakav cursed foully and threw his spear across the burnt campsite. What choice did he have but to run after his band and take up leadership?

A shrill cry startled the hunters, and immediately they ran to the sound. Not too far away from the campsight, a woman lay in the brush straining to give birth.

"Ilona!" Kieran gasped, falling to his mate's side. "Oh, Ilona! Thank the Great Mother, you are alive! But why are you here alone?"

Struggling in the third stage of her first labor, the woman only struggled to breathe, shaking her head. Watched over by the two men, Ilona gave birth to a daughter. Without the Myriana's help, the labor was harsh and frightening, but Ilona was a strong woman and the baby came with relative ease. That night, as she held the blue-eyed baby to her breast, she began to weave a tale for the hunters that would cover her deep guilt. Turning her lovely eyes on her mate, she did not have to fake the anguish as she cried, "Why did you ever leave us? While you were tracking those animals they came again!"

Fury pumped through Drakav, reddening his sharp face. He clenched his hands and hissed through his tight jaw, "Tell me everything."

Ilona complied. "They came not long after you had left, screaming and rushing through the camp, throwing their spears at the women and children. The women and children, Drakav! I was terrified and so I ran into the forest, but I saw them kill Sara. A big one grabbed her and cut her throat, almost near where I was hiding. A few people got away-your father, Drakav, and the medicine woman-but almost everyone else was killed. And then they stole our food and fired the camp. It was terrible, so terrible… And I was too weak to follow them, I've been suffering with this child for days now…"

"You rest, Ilona," Drakav said, laying his shaking hand on her shoulder. "You have nothing to fear now."

The woman did not have to force her tears. She had watched Sara, consumed with guilt, take her own life in a gruesome way as the young woman watched her people burn. She had watched the fire roar through the fur and bone shelters, trapping the old and the children inside. Ilona was horrified that Sara, before her death, had told someone everything. Already she had twisted her mind up so that the guilt was not hers to bear. Sara had lit the fire wrong. The wind had spread the blaze, which should have been restricted to the storage tent. That was no one's fault, surely… She did not think farther than erasing her own culpability. She did not think that the few elderly survivors would make it to the winter camp, or that her lie would ever be exposed.

Ilona sobbed herself into a fit, and the baby began to howl, and Drakav's rage broiled to new heights. Somehow, he would make the demon people pay for their crimes. He would find new hunters, young mateless men who roamed miles from their bands seeking adventure and excitement. He would make a hard band of warriors, and he would find the demon people, and Kyani, and they would all suffer for what they had done here! "Quiet her, Kieran," Drakav commanded. And then he walked off into the darkness, pacing the scorched earth and filling his heart with cruel, bloody thoughts.

Kieran tried to comfort his mate, but something about her story bothered him. Surely Ilona was just a frightened woman, and she might not have seen things right; but in all his encounters with the Clan, he had never known them to throw a spear.

By the time Drakav returned, Ilona and the new child were both asleep. Drakav squatted down, spear in hand, and told Kieran his plans. "My father lives; he can guide the survivors to safety. We must repay this slaughter, and put an end to these beasts before they can do more harm."

Kieran, frowning, agreed to the truth of Drakav's main point. Obviously the Old Ones had gotten a taste for their blood, and would continue to work evil until they were stopped. "But we are just two, Drakav. And we have a woman and a baby with us."

"Listen! We will go northwest and seek men who would be eager to join our cause. The journey will be long, but worth it. There is a man, Laramar, a Zelandonii who often takes other men on long ventures away from their camp. He is… not a squeamish man. He will not flinch from what needs to be done."

"I know of whom you speak, and I doubt it would be worthwhile. The man is a sot. He will not come with us, and if he does, it will not be sober."

"Yes, I know about all that! But there are dozens of young, unmated men around him, many who might prefer a little sport rather than a sedentary life of drinking barma! Even if Laramar does not himself come, he can provide us with the men we need. Men unbound by their consciences. Men who will not hesitate to exterminate every last one of these creatures, down to the babies still in their mother's bellies."

Durc was all alone. Aga was feeling ill and Uba had gone to tend to her. The boys Brac, Grev, and Groob had all been put to work before Aga had sought permission from Droog to lay down, and Uba had not thought to send Durc off with them. Grod and Goov had encouraged old Zoug to take his sling and hunt for small animals while the women treated the hides of the three giant deer that the hunters had brought down together two days ago. Broud had disappeared down the mountainside with Kyani, and no one knew where they had gone on this irregularly warm autumn day, the last stand of a vanished summer before the true, stinging cold of winter set in.

The little boy missed his mother with an ache that had long since gone physical. Time did not ease it, only given him more age and experience to understand what actually had happened to the young blonde woman. Broud had summoned up the frightening spirits and made them turn his mother into a spirit, and then drove that spirit away. No one saw his mother, no one spoke to her, as if she was dead like Iza. But Durc remembered that he has spoken to her, and she had spoken to him. She told him she was leaving and that Uba would be his mother from then on. And he had told her, as best he could, that he didn't want to stay without her. Ayla had gone on anyway, but it had made a powerful impression on the child: he alone had addressed a spirit, conversed with one.

He was hatefully angry towards Broud, who had murdered his mother and left him alone in the world. He knew that Broud despised him, he felt it every day of his life. Broud's dislike even rubbed off on the others, and Durc felt himself ostracized as no Clan boy ever had. He had heard Broud say often enough what no one else would, that Durc was deformed, ugly, wrong. Durc often followed Broud with hot, furious eyes, though he had never imagined doing evil to the leader.

Durc sat still near the promontory, gazing across the land, willing his mother the spirit to reappear and talk to him once more. She never came, but sometimes the little boy straining with all his might to see beyond the veil sensed other things: animals who were not there, running out from the forest only to disappear in plain sight; voices on the wind, laughing or moaning, some screaming in terror that were so frightening Durc would run and hide in his bedroll until someone found him and put him to work. The work always eased his mind and so he always tried again, seeking Ayla as he replayed that terrible day over and again in his mind with the cruel sharpness of a Clan memory.

As he stared out at the panoramic view of forested mountain slopes, valleys, and flat, elevated steppes far below, Durc remembered that it was not entirely Broud who was responsible, but the mog-ur Goov as well. Durc was stunned when Goov appeared as Ursus at the cave ceremony, and now Durc was wondering if-since mog-ur was actually the one who had stripped Ayla of her life, on Broud's command-Goov could hear spirits like he could.

"Mama, mama," the abandoned, disliked little boy keened. If he could weep he would have, but a powerful Clan spirit had shaped him in his mother's body and his mind and biology was deeply Clan. No one knew which spirit had made him, though, and Durc had stopped asking though he had never stopped longing to know. Brac and Grev were very sure that the Spirit of Wooly Rhinoceros had made them inside Oga, they bragged about it often. But what spirit had made Durc?

A thought came to him then, as he remembered the one who was the mog-ur before Goov. Creb had been the most powerful of Mog-urs. What if _Creb's_ double totems had created Durc? After all, they had once all lived together! Durc remembered that time as one of safety and loving warmth, and he thought that if Creb were still alive, Durc would be very well liked indeed, Broud or no Broud. And then, the thought went farther, swelling the little boy with a pride he rarely knew. Uba is medicine woman because she is Iza's daughter, of her ancient line of medicine women. If Creb had made Durc, maybe that was why Durc saw Ayla and could speak to her! Maybe Durc could be a mog-ur one day, a powerful mog-ur like Creb, even more powerful than Goov! Maybe he already _was_ a mog-ur, in his own spirit! And if Goov had been able to kill Mama, ejecting her spirit from her body, then maybe, maybe, Durc could undo the evil magic and bring Mama back!

The little boy stopped thinking then. He flew to his feet and ran back to the cave. As ever, no one took any notice of him. It was no trouble at all to slip past the working women, past Uba in the cave hovering at Aga's hearth, and beyond.

"I wish it wouldn't turn cold," Kyani said as she took the soft rabbit skin and soaked it in the water, and then ran it down Broud's powerful arm. Beside them the gorgeous silver falls plummeted into the chilled pool, spraying a fine mist over their bodies that relieved the odd heat of the day.

Broud shook his head at her foolishness. "The earth needs to rest. All spring, summer, and fall it is growing things. The earth gets tired, and so the spirits lay over it a blanket of ice and snow and so it sleeps."

Kyani grinned at his poetry. "So she must sleep, so that she can rise again in the spring and grow life anew."

"You think the spirit of earth is female?" Broud asked, jerking his head a little in disbelief as he briefly closed his eyes, tipping his face up towards the canopy of pine and enjoying the feeling of clean water rolling over his hot skin. Kyani made a little hum of affirmation as she moved through the shallow water, bathing his back.

She appeared before him again, a sight that always stunted the leader's breath. "Of course," she said with all seriousness. "In my old life we called her the Great Mother, the most powerful of all the Spirits. Though I am Clan now, I still think it is true. She is female, because she gives birth to all life, from men and women to the tallest tree and the smallest stinging ant."

"Hmm," Broud muttered. "Maybe I liked you better before you could talk."

Kyani laughed and splashed him softly. He caught her arms up roughly and they played in the water for a while, and then, as ever, their playful fighting turned to passion. Broud held her beside the surging falls, kissing her deeply. Though he played gruff and rough with her, Broud was pleased that she was quickly becoming fluent, and could communicate with him truly. He was often curious to hear and see her speak. Not only did she say such strange and pretty things, her Clan speech was lovely to hear and behold. He pulled back from her then and said seriously, "You've not confined yourself yet for your women's curse. When was the last time you bled?"

Now Kyani bowed her head and her face flushed with pleasure. "The last time the moon was full before we met. Now the moon is reborn yet again, the second time since." She looked up with bright eyes and said, "I think you have given me a child, Broud."

He bit his lips over the delight he felt to hear her say it this way, issuing his spirit the credit without any doubt. "You are sure?" he teased in a breathy voice, wanting her to say it again. "Not the Spirit of Wooly Mammoth, or Aurochs? No other man's totem, but mine?"

Kyani pretended outrage for her honor, making a little cry. "I have been with no other man but you!"

Broud nodded, misunderstanding completely. He thought she meant she had not been close to any other man, and it was true. Broud believed that a woman had to be close to a man to swallow his spirit. The closest she had come to another Clan man was at her totem and mating ceremony, when Goov had painted her back and given her her amulet. Kyani had no business at all with the other men; Broud knew she was his in thought and deed, service and love. Thrilled at the thought of another child at his hearth, he lifted Kyani from the water and backed her up against the rocky wall of the falls. She wrapped her slender legs around his hips and they made love standing up, kissed by the spraying mist and the gentle warm air.

They returned to chaos. Durc was missing. The men who had gone to hunt had abandoned their ptarmigans and now sought the boy with the women, rushing all about the cave sight. Fearing the worst, Broud dropped Kyani's hand and rushed into the fray. He caught Goov and demanded, "What has happened?"

"Durc is gone," Goov motioned quickly.

Broud fell back for a moment, raising his dark brows in thought. It was the thing he had desired most, next to securing his Clan's well-being and confidence. The boy was a horrible reminder of all that had gone wrong, all that Broud had done wrong in the past. If Broud could wake up one morning and find that the strange looking boy had vanished in the night, he would offer up to Ursus for his good luck.

But Durc was Clan, like it or not, and Broud was changing from the hot headed man-child who had cast Ayla out and brought the evil ones down without a thought for anyone else. He was a full man now, and a leader straining to walk with Ursus. He growled at the trouble the boy had caused and then took over the search. He directed Droog and Grod to study the earth around the perimeter of the cave site, to seek the boy's sign. He sent his mother and Uka to the safe areas up above the cave, where there were still a few groves of trees before the timberline. He motioned Uba over and demanded, "Where did you send him? Where did you tell him to go?"

Uba bowed her head, ashamed. "I left him. I had to tend to Aga in the cave, she is ill. I think she is pregnant again, and she is old for it. I left him at my hearth, alone. I am sorry."

Broud had no time to reprimand her. Brac had strayed off once, at about Durc's age, and had been attacked by a hyena. Broud was just about to run for his spear when something Uba had said whipped around in his mind. He spun to Goov and asked, "Has the cave been searched?"

Goov shook his head, frowning. "But it is only the one chamber, and if Durc was hiding behind the formations he would have come out when called…"

The two men exchanged a long glance.

"No," Goov said. "No, he would not have gone back there."

Grod ran up then, gesturing negatively. "There is sign only to the promontory and back again. The boy did not leave the area."

"Durc!" Broud shouted, his rage mixed with terror. He rushed off with Goov, horrified at what might be happening in the secret chamber, the place of the spirits. At any moment he expected the earth to pitch and heave, and their new cave to come crashing down on them. Still, he rushed on, sliding deftly through the narrow corridor, his hope falling to dust when he saw a light glowing in the sacred space beyond.

It was a sight from a nightmare. The little boy was naked, his body painted red with ochre. All about the floor the sacred bones of Ursus were scattered in a wild pattern of the boy's own devising. In the center was the bleached skull of a giant cave bear, one long bone thrust through his eye socket, invoking a curse of death. The little boy's back was to Broud and Goov and he was rocking, moaning words with no meaning at all.

"Durc!" Broud screamed. "Goov, seize him!"

Goov, appalled, was frozen. Broud-sure that the roof would give at any time-battled his wild terror and leaped forward. He grabbed the boy roughly and bundled him out of the sacred chamber, shouting as he did, "Everyone out, out! Get out of the cave!"

Panic followed. No one knew the totality of what had been done, but the sight of the little boy covered in red paint, the most sacred color of the Clan, was enough to frighten them beyond fear. They gathered a ways from the cave and waited, holding their breath before the disaster fell.

The earth did not erupt, but the leader did. "Stupid, evil boy!" he screamed, throwing the child down. He wailed on Durc with closed fists, and Uba screamed in sorrow and agony to see her adopted son beaten with such violence. Kyani screamed to Broud and it went unheard. Now the boy's face was covered in blood, and Goov could stand no more.

Goov ran to Broud and grabbed his raised arm, staying the blow that would have likely been the death of the small child. "No, Broud, no," Goov hissed, so low no one else could hear.

"He could have killed us all! He might have done it already!" Broud shook loose of Goov and leaned down, seizing the little boy about the neck and righting him. Durc waivered, his head pounding, his consciousness swirling. "Why did you do it?" Broud demanded. "Why have you done this to us?"

Durc turned his bloody, painted face up to Broud, and Broud saw the depths of his own broiling temper in the boy's half-shut, swollen eyes. Durc screamed clearly, "I wanted to bring back my mother! You killed my mother! I want my mother back!"

The earth did not pitch. Goov cautiously returned to the sacred chamber and there he stayed, determined to undo what he could and appease the defiled spirits. He studied the patterns the boy had made, surprised that one who had never been taught would devise such powerful magic. Durc had somehow made a pattern of complete reversal for all Goov had done the year before to death curse Ayla. He had even set the bone through the opposite eye of the skull, as if somehow that could undo the curse. Goov squatted down slowly, sighing with great sorrow. _Ursus, forgive the child, there was no evil in his heart._ Goov prayed softly, his heart weeping for what had happened. He should have known, someone should have known. The Clan was nothing if not deeply sensitive. How had they missed such a grief that would drive a small child to such drastic action? When no signs were given of the spirits' outrage, Goov felt that they had heard his prayers and forgiven Durc, though Goov would spend the day doing what he could to mollify them. Whether Broud would forgive the boy was another matter, and Goov did not think he could death curse a child. It had been hard enough with the mother.

Uba bathed the boy's face in herbal-infused water as Kyani took the bloody skins away. The boy's nose was likely broken and his eyes were blackened and swollen, but Kyani thought he would mend in time. She stared on the sad scene for a moment, questions burning in her heart.

"The draught made him sleep well enough," Uba gestured. She closed her eyes then, agonized. She blamed herself. She blamed Broud. She could not erase the sight from her mind of the powerful man beating the scrawny boy with his full strength.

"Are you all right?" Kyani asked quietly.

"Yes," Uba said. She looked up at Broud's mate, and knew that Kyani's real work lay elsewhere. And what would the new-born Clan woman think when she finally learned the full truth? "You can go, if you like."

Kyani pulled herself away from the injured child. She stepped out into the light of a day which had been so beautiful. She searched for him, following his dusty tracks down into the forest. Broud sat beside a great tree, hidden from his Clan. His face was in his hands. Kyani slipped quietly to his side and sat down, just behind him, holding her silence. Whatever had the child meant, Broud killed his mother? Kyani was afraid to find out. She had seen the demons in the man's eyes long ago, but she had never expected to see them released. She forbid the tears from falling, and waited.

A long while passed before Broud looked sideways, only partially, his face hidden by his long wavy hair. He watched Kyani as she slid closer. She lay her hand on his back and he gave a great sigh. Because no one else could see them Kyani pulled at his shoulders, whispering, "Come, come." He lay his head in her lap, staring almost blankly. His fury had left him spent and his shame shut down his thoughts, all save one: _Brun was right._ It played like a drum in his mind, softly, insidiously, snaking this way and that, eating away the confidence he had grown in the past months. _Brun was right._ Kyani stroked his hair gently and finally he closed his eyes and turned his face, pressing it into her thighs. Like a child, he hid in the lap of his woman, hoping that Brun's censure would disappear. Hoping that the awful, humiliating speech Brun had made on Ayla's death would be forgotten, though the entire Clan had heard it. Broud lay still for a long time, until finally Kyani's hands washed even that last terrible thought away. As the sky darkened Broud sighed again, and sat up, looking at his woman. He took her hand and kissed it quickly, and then he looked away, because he couldn't bear the innocence of her face.

"He could have killed us all," Broud said, seeking a justification for his brutal attack on a child. "You don't really know what he did. He… he brought down a great evil. I cannot know what it will do, now that it's been released."

Kyani nodded, letting him go on.

"He's bad," Broud said, keeping it up though the words sounded hollow and stupid and childish no matter how true they were to him. "Bad like her. She was… she was a nightmare. She played with things she didn't understand. And then when she did understand, she just didn't care. She got everyone thinking she was right. She had them all ensnared."

"Ayla," Kyani said quietly.

"Ayla," Broud repeated, the name falling heavily, like a stone.

Kyani drew a deep breath. She had no fear of Broud; he would not hurt her. But she knew instinctively that she could easily wound him, if she said the wrong thing. Still, the poison had to be drawn out. It had obviously done enough damage to her mate. "What happened to Ayla?"

Broud hissed softly through his teeth. He looked at Kyani, desperate to gauge how she might react once she knew all of it. He wondered if she would hate him. She couldn't leave him physically, but she could pull away from him in her mind. Like Oga had. Even like Ebra had. Like Brun had. "I had Goov curse her with death. It means… I… I suppose I did what your people did, to you. Maybe she isn't really dead at all. You surely aren't."

"You drove her away," Kyani said, oddly relieved. She had thought he might have beaten the woman to death with his hands.

Broud was encouraged by her calm acceptance. "It's really more than that. It's a death curse, done by mog-ur. It makes her a spirit, and she's supposed to just die then, once she is gone. But you didn't die. Maybe Others are immune to a death curse."

"Others!" Kyani exclaimed softly. "Ayla was… like me?"

"Not in the tiniest little bit," Broud muttered, though if he had judged the blonde with half as much fairness as he had judged Kyani, he would have realized that the two women had a great deal in common, compassion and bravery being just two of many traits. And then he sighed again, and nodded. "She was one of your people. Iza-that's the old medicine woman, Uba's mother-found her in the tall grass near our old cave. She had been attacked by a cave lion, but she wasn't dead."

Kyani shook her head, eyes wide. "Incredible."

Broud grunted softly. "Maybe. Yes. Yes, I suppose it was incredible. She was, oh, no older than Brac, I guess. Brun, the leader before me, allowed Iza to keep the girl. We raised her up Clan, but she was never Clan in her heart. She was insolent and rude. She acted like she wanted to be a man. We thought she _was_ part man, until she finally bled. She even took up a sling and hunted like a man, against every law. And they let her do it. You don't really know how bad that is."

"You showed me a little, remember? You told me women never touch weapons."

"Yes, that's right, I did." Broud's heart lightened, just a little. "And you listened, you obeyed me, even though your people allow it, and you had your own weapons when we met."

"I wanted to please you," Kyani told him. "It's a little thing to me, to touch a weapon. But your happiness is great to me."

"You… you're an amazing woman. I never told my first mate that, you know. Never once, but she was a good woman, and I thought it all the time. Well, almost all the time. Never said it, though. And then she was killed, and I couldn't tell her." Broud closed his eyes. He couldn't talk about it, not even now. "You are good to me, Kyani. Always remember, please."

Kyani lay her head on his shoulder, turning once and kissing the warm skin lightly. "You are good to me, Broud. I've never been so happy. Ursus brought me to you."

Broud nodded. "I know it is true. I've seen-" he stopped, because he couldn't share any more with her. "I can't talk about it, but I know."

"Who is Durc's-" Kyani frowned. She could not recall the Clan word for father. In fact, she didn't think she had ever even heard it. "Who was Ayla's mate?"

"Oh. She had no mate. No man wanted her. She was incredibly tall. And ugly, pale like death, like dirty ice. Pale hair. Pale eyes. And she became the Woman Who Hunts, if you can believe it. I couldn't. I really couldn't."

Kyani smiled slyly. "But surely someone didn't find her so ugly. She had a child, after all. Someone…" she thought, and said, "Someone… gave her the signal, is that the right way to say it?" Kyani struggled here. Among her people, a regular woman, not a medicine woman or her acolyte, did not lie with a man until he was her mate. But here, she had seen Grod kneel behind Ona several times, and Droog with Aga, right out in the open like there was nothing to it. Broud was too jealous of Kyani for all that, though, and besides, what they did was sometimes quite different and Broud didn't want to talk about why he enjoyed her any way he could imagine to, now that she had shown him that there were many possible ways to achieve pleasure with a woman. So Kyani had never been signaled, though she had seen it done.

But now, Broud almost choked. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"What… what do you mean?" Kyani was baffled, alarmed.

Broud gentled, and said patiently, "A woman has a spirit, like you, you have the Spirit of Ermine. Your spirit's been defeated and you say by mine, and really, it could be no one else's. But it isn't always that way. Many women are close to many different men, and no one really knows when she swallows a man's spirit to do battle with her own."

Kyani's lips fell apart, and she frowned. Could it be that Broud and his people didn't know? That Broud truly did not know his sons for his own, made by his body as much as his first mate's? "No, no…" Kyani said softly, shaking her head.

"No, no, nothing," Broud said. "That is how it's done. Why- What do your people say?" Broud could not escape the sinking sense of dread he felt in his heart. He was instantly reminded of his vision, of the red haired girls who adored him, of Kyani murmuring _our world_ in his ear.

Kyani struggled to find words. "I- Well- A woman- She swallows a man's spirit, but not like you say. It is when… when we do what we do together, at night. A woman is as the earth, like I said. And a man…" Kyani seized a cone from the nearby ground, and shook its seeds loose. "A man is like this. He gives the seed, when he mates with a woman and goes inside her. He puts his seed into her soil. He puts his spirit into her body." She touched her flat belly and then gazed up at her bewildered mate and said, "As you have done, with me."

"What a stupid thing to say," Broud said, quite sharply, even though he cringed inwardly when he saw the hurt in her face. Her poetic words swirled around in his mind and desperately he said, "Everyone knows it is not so. A man is not a pine cone. Everyone knows… The mog-urs say…" Broud could not finish. His hands seemed frozen, his tongue seemed to thicken in his mouth. His vision played before him, over and over, reducing to two components: Kyani's claiming the world-or more properly, the children in it and their great achievements-for Broud _and_ herself. And then the driving, violent need this vision had left him with, when he had felt as if he was saving something of himself and banishing his own hideous death by pouring himself into her… No, no, no. It was insane! His Clan mind, which came so slowly to change, knew nothing else to do but reject the radical and new. Yet Broud of all Clan men was rash and radical himself, capable of wild mood swings and great impulsive acts. Brun had denounced him as unmanly and unfit, but in truth, something had formed differently in Broud's mind which allowed him over all Clan men to be wilder, freer, his mind thus fertile ground more able than any other Clan mind to bear the great change that was coming. Some would call it a glitch, a random defect, a thing that would be described in later years as a chemical imbalance. Others, perhaps more wise, would say that Ursus or the Great Mother herself had altered Broud in a very subtle but essential and dramatic way. This alteration had caused him both to lose his temper and attack Ayla and despise her for her strangeness, forming deep convictions about the unnaturalness of Ayla and whatever creature had spawned her, and then just a year after banishing Ayla to take a woman of the Others as his mate without feeling it strange or the act of an unstable mind. Clan men were static, unchanging. Each action was based logically on past actions, not only of the individual but of countless generations before. The Clan viewed Broud as mercurial and wild tempered, and it was precisely this glitch in his nature that caused him to dismiss Kyani's words verbally while twisting them and turning them about in his mind, and slowly, very slowly, beginning to feel their weight and truth. Broud-like Ayla herself had thought, when she was hiding with the newborn Durc-had never seen a woman swallow a man's spirit. But he had seen every woman he had ever known take a man's organ, and only after did they ripen with child, never ever before. What if that seemingly worthless substance released at climax was _not_ useless, but his own essence, and the essence of his spirit? What had Ursus _ever_ made that had no purpose? Broud's angry frown vanished as he contemplated these grave matters, his mind going no further than the debate of true or no. His thoughts did not yet leap to the consequences of what Kyani had said.

Kyani cast her eyes down and waited. Broud did not like to be contradicted, she knew that. In all fairness-and she gave him all fairness, where Ayla had not-he had been raised never to expect it, especially not from his own mate. But there was more to it than this; a simple exchange of contradictory ideas should not upset him so, it never had. Broud had a quick intelligence and Kyani had seen his eyes spark in interest more than once when she spoke of the ways of her people, or her own feelings. As ever with Broud, there was far more to his negative reactions than the surface appearance of male dominance, and Kyani was learning that what he resisted most often touched on a matter of his pride, or on something he had done and regretted, something he feared, or something he desired above all else. Her heart beat a little harder then, as she thought of Durc's dark eyes, his own impulsive actions and moody temper, all the things that made the orphaned boy so much like the man she loved. She could no longer dismiss any of it, not now, not after what had happened and what Durc had said about Broud killing his mother. Kyani waited for her mate to soften again, his face relaxing as he internally weighed the great matter she had forced on him. And then, when she judged the time to be right, she placed her hand on him like a woman of the Others and yet bowed her head like a Clan woman, to seek his attention; and once given, she asked, "Did you truly hate Ayla so?"

Broud left his inner debate somewhat gratefully and nodded. "She did whatever she could to torment and disrespect me. I don't know why. I would ask her for help and she would look at me like I was in the wrong for it, like I was some irritation to her, after hunting all day, after risking my life to bring her and everyone else fresh meat, when I was tired and just needed something soothing to drink. If ever I achieved anything of worth, anything that would make Brun proud of me, she would do something wild and shocking and get everyone talking about her, so that I would be forgotten. She would stare me down like an animal about to attack. She would defy me openly, before everyone, which lowers a man's worth in the eyes of other Clan men. And then she would violate our laws, putting everyone in danger. Nothing is worse than violating the laws given by the spirits. Nothing is surer to bring disaster. I felt… I felt that she brought some doom with her, and I couldn't make anyone hear me. I felt like I was screaming a warning and she made them all deaf to it, but now they know."

"Know what?" Kyani whispered.

Broud looked at Kyani, his eyes burning. "That her kind-your kind-want us dead and gone, and our land for themselves. Even she, raised with us, could not get over her ridiculous feeling that she was somehow better."

Kyani gasped softly. She could not deny it, not for a moment. She knew what was said about Broud and his people, ugly things, violent things and all of them untrue. "They are not my kind, Broud. You are my kind. The baby I carry is my kind." Your baby, Broud, she added silently.

He was soothed, and the dread that had crept into his heart whispered away just as quickly, though it was never truly gone. And with his relief came clarity. Though sometimes he couldn't even understand himself, Broud was an honest man, like all Clan men. He sighed and admitted, "I provoked her, too, Ki-ani. I didn't always need her help. Sometimes, after our hatred was declared and known, I just wanted to make her jump and run. And if she hesitated, if she was insolent, I would beat her more than was right. It was right, but it wasn't right. Can you understand my words?"

"You went too far."

Broud nodded, unashamed and relieved to finally speak of it to the one person in the world who he sensed loved him unconditionally, the woman his heart and his visions said was granted by Ursus, different though she was. Broud confessed, "I did. I went too far. At the time it just felt good-great, actually-to pay her back for all she had done. But Brun, my mother's mate, the leader, he told me I was wrong, that I had lost control. He said he was ashamed of me. And that, Ki-ani, was a horrible thing to hear."

It came together now, all of it. Kyani swallowed hard. She didn't want to, but she had to make him understand. If it was just them two alone, no more would need to be said. She could comfort the man she loved, knowing that he had taken a great step towards spitting out the poison in admitting his own culpability. But there was another involved, a hurt child. And her care was not only for the child! Who knew, if left to fester, what vice the boy's misery might lead him to? He had already defiled the spirits. What if one day he tried to harm Broud, or Broud's boys? "Broud, I love you," Kyani said, and his eyes smiled and he put his arm around her. "I will always love you, and there is nothing that can change that."

"I feel the same for you," he told her softly.

Kyani nodded sternly. "You did more than beat that woman, didn't you?"

Confused, he shook his head a little, and then, with the slow and relentless beat of Clan logic, the conversation coalesced in his mind, and still he avoided it. He looked at Kyani, almost frightened.

"Did you give Ayla the signal, knowing that she would be angry but would have to obey you, as a woman of the Clan?"

Broud felt himself to be frozen. A part of him whispered, _shut her up. Make her stop._ And yet her eyes were pure, and there was no malice, no defiance, no judgment. "Yes," he breathed. The first day flashed before his eyes. The frigid, rushing stream. The bright sun. The cold wind on his hot youthful body. The screams, the burning lust and the sweet release of rage. The unchallenged sense of power and victory. The ptarmigans Ayla had hunted, discarded on the bloody ground, forgotten.

"And who else gave her the signal?" Kyani asked softly, relentless in her own gentle way, chasing down the point with as much mercilessness as any hunter, though her driving was in a sweet voice and feminine gestures, and accented with all the love shining in her violet eyes.

Broud shook his head. "No one. No one else wanted that from her, ever. I only did it to win our battle, not because she was beautiful to me."

"Broud," Kyani whispered, ever so cautiously reaching for his face. She brushed his cheeks, tucked his hair behind his ears and out of his eyes, tender gestures of an unbroken love. "Broud, Durc is yours. When you took that woman, you put your soul, your spirit into her. You put that baby into her womb, no matter if she wanted it or not. Broud," she whispered, using all her beauty and love for him to will him to understand, "Broud, my mate, my love, please hear me. Durc is your son."


	6. Chapter 6

Kyani never mentioned Durc, Ayla, or her beliefs about creation again. The woman knew her mate in his deepest mind and she was unwilling to mention things that disturbed him more than they needed to be said. But her beliefs about the creation of life had impacted her mate hard. He watched Durc carefully as the boy made a quick recovery, as he tried to get up and run and play with Grev before his wounds were even close to healed. Sometimes Broud felt sick. He had hurt his own son, truly since the day the child had been born two and a half years before. Sometimes, too, the old Broud returned, and Broud loathed the child and his strange looks and all the pieces of his mother that were in him, and though he battled he could not force himself to claim responsibility-either for the boy's life nor for his upbringing now. He swung back and forth between two wild extremes as the leaves revealed their true explosive colors and then faded, and died away. The woman he loved had made him a mess, and worst of all he believed her. The winter came on. Her body began to fill out with the new baby, the one he didn't doubt to be his own, and Broud held his breath. Durc was deformed, wasn't he?

Aga was pregnant as well, and everyone was more worried about her than the young woman their impulsive leader had mated and put before Ebra and Uba. But it was Uba that all eyes watched that winter. And when the mountain pathways piled snow against the cave's entrance, and no animal but a silver fox-killed for Kyani's wardrobe-dared to venture outside, Uba went into her labor. The young woman was terrified, even with the experienced older women by her side. Kyani could not but help linger closeby, half terrified herself. Her small, round belly was hard and though she was fit and strong she was afraid. Uba's long labor was horrific to the young woman of the Others. She clutched her hand like a sister might and prayed that it would end well. It went terribly hard for Uba, in Kyani's eyes, lasting three whole days. All the more frightening for the girl was when the Clan women said it was short and easy compared to a first birth. Kyani's whole body shuddered, and she sat before the common fire that night, in a cloak of winter ermine, dreading the passing of each day. Broud sat beside her most nights, commanding the best cuts of meat for her and holding her steady when her heart fluttered with fear. He thought she was beautiful. He thought, in secret, that she was this Great Mother that she spoke of, gorgeous and full of life, _his_ life.

And then Uba had her child, and it was a boy. Kyani was dashed, wanting a girl for the sons of the Clan. But Uba wanted the baby named Vorn, after her fallen mate, and she was thrilled to have a baby of her own. As is the way with women of all races, the struggle of labor and birth was quickly forgotten and everyone delighted that at last, new life had come after so much death.

One day, when Durc was up and wandering about in the snow, breathing in the ancient spirit that covered the earth in such soft, shimmering blankets, Broud finally went to Goov. The two had spoken little since Broud's violence, and Broud had given only direction in those days and never any conversation.

Goov stood in welcome when the young leader appeared at his wide hearth. Ovra was a clever woman who anticipated the needs of her mate, and she quickly set up tea then found some work to do with the other woman, near the common hearth in the front of the cave. Goov had watched the troubled eyes of the leader all fall and winter, thinking that something else had happened to Broud, somewhere in the depths of the leader's strange mind. Today, though, there was peace. Goov gestured to Broud, a signal that meant something like, 'Please, sit.' Goov poured a bit of tea and they sat quietly for a while.

"Ovra is a good woman," Broud acknowledged.

Goov nodded in his content. It was a shame the woman never again conceived, after those sad early miscarriages. But Ovra was an attentive and affectionate mate, and Goov was happy with her.

"I have been speaking with my own mate," Broud began carefully, "about changes that ought to be made for the benefit of the Clan entire."

This surprised Goov. How much sway did the new woman have over Broud that she could suggest or even discuss policy? Goov decided that what Broud really meant was that Broud had thought of some changes and spoken of them, and the humble and pleasant woman had agreed, as was her way.

"There are unmated women. Uba, Ona, and Ika, and we have fed them as a group and let them keep the hearths of their fallen mates. We were frozen in mourning, but that time has passed. Uba has born a son who must be raised up strong, as the elder Vorn would have wished." It was a strange thing to say. The boy was Uba's, Goov thought, not Vorn's, and though Goov agreed with Broud he couldn't help wonder why Broud had said that. Clan words did not fall lightly, without thought, not even from Broud's lips.

"I want you to help me with these women, Goov. Grod has some interest in Ona, but he has finally gone silver, and his interest appears only to be in the closeness of her hearth when his needs stir him to want a woman and Uka is too old and sick. I'm not sure it's such a good idea to give him or any of the older men a second and much younger mate. Surely they have many less seasons ahead of them, and then the women will be mateless again. I have spoken to Ki-ani, and this is what she agrees with, about me taking Uba myself and perhaps giving you Ona. Ika is a bit older, and she would do for one of the older men."

Goov blinked in surprise. He could see the logic in it. Taking second women, or even third, was a custom evolved out of living in a world that truly was much harsher on men than on women. Most of what could be perceived to be unfairness in the way Clan women must cater to men had come from this truth: the duty of a man threw him into great danger daily and often was rewarded only with violent death, and in many Clans there were always more women than men, women who needed food and a sense of place. But Goov couldn't help himself, he was too curious. "Ki-ani accepts this?"

"Goov, she suggested it."

"She is much stranger than any of us know, then."

"Much stranger than you know, perhaps, Goov, but I know her mind. Have you ever seen her even approach another man? When not with me she prefers the company of other women, and she cares more for Uba than for all the women saving our mother Ebra. And there is much work to be done at my hearth, and Ebra grows weary quickly. My mate could use another pair of hands to care for me and Brac and Grev, and the one who is coming in the spring."

Goov took a sharp little breath and said, "But Uba brings more burdens with her. Little Vorn… and Durc. Who will you have care for Ayla's son?" He said it this bluntly, to show Broud the reality of it.

An odd look passed over the leader's face. Goov could not read it, for there were a thousand emotions mixed together in Broud's dark eyes. Goov expected that he might be asked to take the boy in return for the pretty little Ona, or maybe the child would be sent to Droog's hearth.

"I will take him for a little while," Broud said quietly. "He likes Brac and Grev, and they will be the oldest together in time, if Ursus is kind. And he's too much of a loner already. He needs his-" Broud broke off, and slowly changed the next words he was going to speak. "He needs the proper man to raise him."

"And that's _you_? Broud? You?" Goov shook his head in disbelief, and almost despair. He, too, feared where the boy would go if much more injury and hurt were put on his slender shoulders.

"More than you know," Broud said firmly. "But then, when he is a bit older and more steady, I want you to take Durc."

"Me? Why? And then, why should I not take him now? Ovra would not mind having a child to raise!" What was Broud thinking, to torture the child by throwing him around so much? Durc's new home should be his permanent home, at last!

Broud enjoyed flustering his mog-ur. The young leader was a trickster who delighted in messing with people's minds; but also it was a very good solution, one he'd spent a long time thinking up. The child was strange, and there must be a future secured for him. Broud had no doubt the boy would make a good hunter, but there was something more to Durc that Broud had noticed during his long while of secretive watching. Durc's wild actions had been the thing to trigger it. If that wildness could be contained, shaped… Perhaps the boy _was_ only responding to some call. Broud's observations led him to believe that Durc had a strong interest in the world of spirits, more so than Grev or Groob. Broud said firmly, "Goov, you will take the boy when he's of age to become an acolyte, and no sooner."

Goov had trouble thinking after this. He was stunned.

"The spirits were not offended by his blasphemy, Goov. They could have been-I thought they would certainly be!-but they were not. We had many good hunts after that, and the women put much food away for the winter. Uba has delivered a healthy son, and two more women are expecting. We've had good luck, Goov. I think the spirits are pleased with us. I think they might have called to Durc, though he should not have done what he did. Lacking the proper respect and guidance, Durc misunderstood their call. How often did I say that if I had Ayla at my hearth she would not have defied our laws?"

"It was much said, Broud." But you never wanted to take her, he added silently, not until the end, and that was but a trick to get rid of the woman.

"So now I will take Durc, and I will teach him honor and love for our ways. I will teach him discipline. It's my place, Goov. I blame myself for what happened. It was always my place to teach the boy, and I've never done it."

Goov saw into Broud then, as the mog-ur was sometimes able to do. "You think it was your totem that started his life! All this time!"

Broud wouldn't share his secret knowledge. He didn't want to upset their ways. It would be a slowly given secret, if ever given at all. "I did not think it always, Goov. Hate has a way of clouding our eyes, blinding us to what should be plainly seen."

Goov raised his thick brows and muttered, "Such odd things you say! How can hate blind eyes?"

"Think about it for a while, Mog-ur." Broud patted his friend on the back, finished his tea, and returned to his busy, full hearth.

Durc came to Broud's hearth reluctantly. Terrified, even, clutching his little sling in his small, trembling hands. But then that strange woman with the violet eyes had motioned him close, and he had sat on her lap as she fed him good foods and combed his tangled hair that glinted with gold in the firelight. Handsome boy, she had called him to his sheer delight, and she had praised his odd height as a good thing. She had told him that one day he would run fast and far and kill many strong beasts, and he had fallen asleep in her arms, dreaming of such a day. And then the man who had seemed to hate him gathered him over with Brac and Grev and told them all stories of the hunt, of the bravery and courage of Clan men. Broud told them ancient tales of spirits long passed and delighted as a mischievious father will when terrifying his children with stories that had once sent him to hide under his covers. But Broud was careful, always, to pick tales that reinforced the rightness of Clan laws.

Uba came reluctantly as well, but Broud seemed not to want her for anything other than her own protection. For all those early dark winter nights, after Broud's hearth ate its dinner and washed up with melted snow, and the stories were told, and the boys put to bed, Broud slid into his furs beside Kyani. They were quiet in their pleasure now, with all the family sleeping around them. Sometimes Broud covered her soft mouth with his rough, calloused hand, which excited the conqueror in him and served to keep her little gasps and cries muffled from the ears of Ebra, Uba, and the boys. They hid deep down in the wide furs and came together blindly, and no one ever saw what went on between them but they guessed rightly that it wasn't quite proper Clan-style mating. And if they stayed awake very long, the others at the leader's hearth could hear as Broud and Kyani talked softly into the night, going over the day's happenings or tomorrow's needs, or the dreams of the future which were mostly Kyani's domain, one that she slowly coaxed Broud into. He thought that Brac would lead and Durc would be the mog-ur, and Grev would be Brac's second. Groob was taking after Droog, showing an interest for tool-making. But who would the medicine woman be? Uba needed a daughter, and Broud knew that his spirit had but one way of getting swallowed. But he was selfish; though Uba was a very pretty woman, Broud only wanted Kyani. Perhaps when Kyani was recovering from the child, they thought, Broud would need Uba and then, maybe, a daughter could come for Uba's line. But Kyani held her own private hope here: she wanted a little girl of her own. From what she understood, the old medicine woman was Brun's sister, and they were both children of the first Uba, a medicine woman of great reputation. That made Uba and Broud close cousins, which meant that any daughter of Broud's would also carry the power to make great medicine. Truly, she had joined into a noble family, one that gave the Clan both temporal and spiritual leadership for generations now. Her own aunt was a great spiritual leader and healer, and if she could have a little girl to link both families, what might come of it? But first she must endure the longer and crueler labor of a Clan birth. Though ever hard working, Kyani spent much of her own time in quiet meditation, willing the Mother to give her the strength she would need to bring Broud's child into the world.

Throughout that winter, Broud had the joy of feeling himself the patriarch of a large and happy family. His two women got on well with Ebra and each other; and the children played together and were affectionate with baby Vorn, who fussed little as was the way with good Clan babies. With the resilience of childhood, Durc began to recover the hurt pieces of his heart. He grew less fearful of the leader who treated him as a brother to the other boys, even if Broud could not bring himself to show individual affection to Ayla's son. Durc never felt excluded or inferior to Oga's boys.

But Broud, who had no hunting to do, grew restless. The snow was deep, but he often fought his way out to the promontory to look over his frozen kingdom, trying to see, if he could, to the dark forest beyond the steppe. He felt his enemy was quiet, but it was the quiet of preparation and not peace. He had soaked what he could from Kyani: the spear was thrown with an atlatl, which gave it the power to fly through the sky far distances, yet sacrificed the accuracy and driving force of Broud's own heavy thrusted spear. Kyani did not know how to duplicate it, and Broud wouldn't have wielded it well if she could have. Broud did not fear the obsidian daggers, which he had set Droog to reproduce in flint, if possible, or to make a weapon yet crueler still. He thought that the forest he had fought the Others in had denied the Others the advantage of their far thrown spears. Broud longed for the weather to break so he could find places in his own alpine forest that would be suitable for ambush. He still felt the need for more mature hunters. Brac would be a man soon, and Broud was pleased that Uba had given another strong arm to the Clan. But he felt his enemy's restlessness, a quivering energy that swept with the winds across the steppe, bearing all of Drakav's twisted, jealous lust, his racism, and his evil intentions. They would come with the spring, Broud thought. And he would have to be ready.

The first melt came in February, and the Clan set out to the place where Grod had seen maple trees. With something of the mood of a festival they tapped the trees, and Kyani poured the sweet syrup over balls of packed snow as treats. The days were growing longer and lighter and everyone wanted to stay outside, but once Broud, Goov, and Grod finished stalking out the forest, Broud told everyone to return to the cave. He felt a fell wind blowing, and by the time they made it home the skies had darkened early and another great storm blew in, piling the snow high again. The Clan hunkered in for winter's last stand, sick of dried foods and dark days, even with the pleasant addition of fresh maple sugar. The days ended early; like Ursus, who had taught them to live in these wilds many millennia before, there was little to do but curl into their furs and sleep. Broud didn't mind this so much. When he had been a very young man, the awesome and mysterious power of a woman's swelling body had made him deeply uncomfortable. As beautiful as she had been, when Oga's belly first popped Broud would seek his comfort elsewhere, taking his prerogative to summon any of the young women in the Clan to serve him. But Kyani had given Broud a special insight into what seemed to be a frightening manifestation of female power: it was his own doing, and this the Clan hunter could make sense of. It was an earthy idea, even if the spirits had their role to play. He found himself suddenly entranced by the swelling curves of his little mate's body, and he could hardly keep his hands off her. He sought ways for her to be comfortable, but his needs were as strong as they ever had been.

But Kyani was entering the final stretch of a pregnancy her body had never been prepared for. She had been active and full of energy through the fall and the darkest parts of the winter, but as spring came, and the Clan baby she carried entered a crucial phase of quick growth, her strength was sapped. The baby was laying Clan thickness into its bones and extra layers of muscle and fat, and like Ayla had before her, Kyani found herself unable to get warm. Her pretty violet eyes seemed oddly sunken back, surrounded by equally dark circles. Her ivory skin lost its glow, and Broud was beside himself with worry. More than once he set off alone into the icy rains to find some fresh meat for the young woman. When one night she showed blood after their lovemaking, Broud knew the time for that was passed. That night he had a nightmare that he lost her and he woke up full of a horror that would not pass in the morning light.

"Uba," Broud called softly, grateful that he had taken the medicine woman to his hearth. Ebra took Vorn and Uba came quickly to sit at Broud's feet. He looked over his shoulder, to where Kyani slept bundled in furs beside a roaring fire, and still shaking with cold. "It was never like this with Oga. Do something, Uba. You must." It was the closest he had ever come to pleading with a woman.

"This woman regrets to tell the leader that there isn't much to be done. Oga was Clan. Kyani was born to the Others. It seems to be more difficult for them. Do you remember how it went for Ayla?"

Broud thought back to Durc's birth, a screaming, nightmarish affair that had kept even the men in a state of silent horror. "No," he said quickly. "It won't be that way for her. It can't be. Uba, use all the power of your craft. You have to protect her. I- I can't protect her in this."

Uba bowed her head, thinking of the teas and herbs that Iza had given Ayla to strengthen her. Durc had still caused Ayla great agony, had nearly killed her, and had come deformed for all that. Ayla believed that all of her children would be deformed; mixed spirits, Ayla had called them. Uba wondered silently how Broud would greet such a child from the body of this woman he prized.

Broud finally turned to his second mate for other things, too, but it was purely a physical relief. Though Uba enjoyed Broud's hard strong body, she barely participated, barely made a sound. He missed a woman's hands pulling at his hair and her fingers twining with his. He missed Kyani's sharp cries and soft gasps of pleasure. He missed her drowsy, beautiful face on his shoulder once all was done. He missed his mate, and it was a misery like none he had ever known. Spring broke fair and fine, but she could hardly walk long enough to enjoy it. Broud did not want to leave her side. But as soon as the weather changed Broud knew he had work to do.

Before the snow was even melted, Broud and the men-sparing Zoug, whose hair had bleached white that winter-headed down the slopes of their mountain. There were two passes by which men might approach the mountain. The first defile, where the bison herd had wandered in, was guarded by two sharp canyons. Long ago, the stream below had been a raging river that had carved out the defile from the limestone over millions of years. On either side of the passage, sharp cliffs rose and could only be reached from above. They were also covered with pine trees almost to the edge, formerly the exclusive domain of nesting ptarmigans that sheltered there from soaring golden eagles. Broud engaged his men in the arduous task of hauling rocks and boulders up both sides. These could be heaved down on anyone trying to penetrate the valley, either to obstruct the invader's path or crush them to death. The other trail, the one taken by the Clan when moving to the new cave, was steep and rocky, a well-hidden path that Broud secured with a series of stake-filled pits and blockages of felled trees and heavy boulders. The men scouted the paths that they might take if either entrance was breeched, to launch surprise attacks that would compensate for their diminished numbers.

"Hopefully we'll never need all this," said Grod, steaming in the cold after hauling yet another heavy log across the path.

"Hopefully," Broud agreed, catching Goov's eye. "You must all practice and remember the calls and whistles I've given you. It may be that we'll need to separate in the forest, and yet need to communicate."

"How many do you think will come, Broud? How many were in their camp when you attacked?"

"There will be many of them," Goov said quietly. "I have seen it."

"How will we ever defeat many?" Grod gestured anxiously. He lamented this terrible fate, and longed for the steady, peaceful days of Brun's leadership. Grod had never quite forgiven Broud for all his eccentricities and calamities. He had not forgiven Broud for the day long ago when Broud had shoved Zoug, the mate of Grod's mother, to the ground. He even blamed Broud for Vorn's death.

The look in Broud's eyes sent a chill up Grod's spine. "Ki-ani tells me they call us the Demon People," Broud told the men quietly, with an eerie calm. "So we shall be demons to them. We will use this forest, this mountain, to attack in stealth. We will paint our faces black and rush out from cover to hit hard, and disappear on the wind. They will never know our numbers. They will not know where we come from. We will be as spirits, as demons, and they will fear us. That fear will serve in place of the men we lack."

The men returned to the cave, wondering how the leader had ever come to such a decision. Brun would have consulted them all before doing so. He would have spent days and weeks debating the merits and flaws of any strategy put forth. Brun would not have devised such a wild, new, untried plan on his own. He would not have been capable of it, where Broud came to such a thing with an ease that frightened them both in its violence and in its departure from any remembered Clan way. They wondered how long Broud had taken to formulate such a plan. They did not know that this was the very thing their rash leader had been born to do, nor that he had been preparing for this war all his life.

Broud also had to train his sons. Brac was almost a man now. His shoulders were broadening, though it would be many more years before he filled out to his father's powerful stature. Broud caught Brac's curious eyes lingering on Uba more and more, especially when Broud gave her the signal, and Broud wondered what could be done to get the boy a mate. Brac was on the cusp on manhood, pushed to it by the chaos in his young life. On the first warm day Broud summoned his boys. "Get your spears," he said, and Brac and Grev were up in a flash, leaving the work Ebra and Uba had set them to with alacrity. The stood beside Broud, anxious to go, but the leader didn't move.

"Durc!" Broud called, and the boy jumped to his feet. Broud feigned irritation. "Will you keep us waiting all day? Or are you such a good hunter already that you need no lessons?"

Thrilled, Durc grabbed up his spear and his sling, and rushed to the leader's side. Broud had been a stern guardian all winter long, as he battled within himself to accept the boy. Now Uba looked up sharply at Broud, shooting him a look of pure gratitude and joy. Broud gave the woman a little nod, a thing no one else saw, and then ushered his sons out into the sunlight. Uba gave Kyani her tea and then walked to the mouth of the cave, folding her arms over her chest. She had watched Broud struggle with himself, though Broud was sure no one else could see his difficulty. She knew how much Broud had hated Ayla. She remembered Broud beating Oga once because the woman wanted to nurse Durc when Ayla's milk had dried up, Broud insisting that no deformed brat would be brother to his sons, and that he didn't care if the boy starved. _Brun would be proud of you now,_ she thought, gazing after her new mate. Even Ayla, if she could see, would be pleased. Uba touched her amulet softly. _If only I could see you again, sister._

Uba returned to Kyani. She knelt at the young woman's side and smoothed her soft cold brow, brushing her thick black hair out of her face. "You have made him a better man," Uba told Kyani discretely.

"I did nothing," Kyani insisted, trying to push herself up. "He was always a good man."

_No, no he was not,_ Uba thought. Instead, she put her arm around the woman's back to help her sit. "Your pretty long hair is all tangled, Ki-ani," Uba said quietly. "Let me brush it for you."

At the edge of the hearth, rubbing her arthritic wrists, Ebra looked on her son's two mates, and her heart was glad.

Broud set his hands on his hips, pleased with all of the boys. _I ought to drag old Zoug out here,_ he thought, _so he can show them how the sling is really used. No man is good enough to take Zoug's place with that weapon. _

He watched his sons practice with their spears, thrusting into a soft, wet log. Not quite satisfied with the depth of their penetration, he set them to exercises to improve their strength, and then he strolled over to the promontory to take a break, to ease his eyes on the beautiful greening steppe. But something caused him to narrow his eyes and shout, "Goov! Grod! Droog!"

Broud whirled to Brac. "Get the men and my spear, now! Tell them to bring their weapons!"

Brac ran so fast his feet felt like they flew over the ground. Broud turned back to the steppe, glaring hard at the company of six bodies making a slow but straight track along the stream, not yet near the mountain pass. "Come on, then, you worthless women," he hissed. "I've got a welcome for you."

The men prepared quickly and then split apart, hustling up the separate paths to the cliffs. Goov's pulse hammered, but Broud was filled with a delicious cold clarity. His heightened Clan senses reached even a higher level of purity as his enemies approached. He could hear the faintest rustling of a squirrel far in the forest behind him. He could hear the soft stirring of the pines overhead, even though there was no wind that the others could have perceived. He could almost feel Goov's quick, nervous breath. He gazed out to his enemies, crossing the steppes, and then he frowned.

He studied the shapes for a moment, and then his gave a high, clear whistle that rang out across the canyon. Goov turned in surprise. "What is it, Broud?"

Broud motioned to the steppes far below. "Look harder, Mog-ur. They are Clan."

"Broud! The story of your bravery in the Bear Ceremony has become an often told tale around the hearths of our cave. So: you are leader now."

"Since the spring after we returned home," Broud confirmed, exchanging his greetings with Varn, the leader of the northernmost clan.

Varn looked over the men who had greeted him and his travelling companions, thinking that many men were missing. He was too tactful to comment on such a sorrowful subject, but the nature of his mission made it important to discover what misfortune had befallen Brun's old clan. "I had hoped to greet the old leader," he said carefully, noting a spark of some dark emotion in the new leader's eyes.

"Brun walks in the next world, Varn. It was a hard year for us, that year after the Clan Gathering. But we have a new cave now, and new life. We are lucky still."

"Yes, a fine cave!" Varn exclaimed, ignoring the oddity of occupying a cave so high in the mountains, one he would not have found was it not for Broud's guides Grod and Droog meeting him on the steppe.

Broud, ever sensitive, said, "These are strange and difficult times, Varn. A cave in the mountains is well protected. Now you must be tired and hungry after your long journey. Come to my hearth, where my mates will give you something to restore your strength and comfort."

Varn noted that many old faces were gone, but he was careful not to give any more than a passing glance around the magnificent cave. One absence was quite glaring: the brave and skilled blonde medicine woman was gone. Her son, the deformed boy, now sat obediently between two other boys at the leader's hearth. The younger medicine woman was one of Broud's mates, and Broud's old mate was gone as well. The unsettled feeling in Varn's heart grew stronger, but it was nothing compared to what he felt when a woman of unearthly beauty subserviently offered him a rich aurochs stew. She was also a woman of the Others-like the medicine woman-but one so delicate and small, even for all her ripening belly, that she seemed to be not human, but a creature of the spirit world. The flash of her violet eyes-demurely hidden but for a moment as she turned-was enough to stun the northern leader.

"My first mate," Broud said proudly, his eyes following the extraordinary young woman. "Due for her first child just before summer comes."

"How- how did you find such a- such a woman?" Varn asked.

Broud enjoyed his stuttering bewilderment at Kyani's beauty. Indeed all the newcomers were lost, wondering how the Others could have produced such a lovely creature, and how she could have come to Broud's hearth. Broud said with no little delight, "That is a long tale, Varn, which I may yet tell if there is time. First, now that we are at our ease, I should like to know the nature of your visit."

And so Varn came to it: "Surely you remember the last time we spoke, at the Cave Gathering?"

Broud did. He had been irritated at all the buzzing conversation surrounding Ayla, and he had been quite dismissive of the northern leader. But more than the old, childishly displayed irritation, Broud remembered the subject of the conversation. "You spoke of Ayla's child, Durc. You spoke of having a mate for the boy."

Varn nodded. Now he said, carefully, "I see that the boy shares your hearth now. Does Ayla no longer walk in this world?"

"She does not," Broud said quickly, too quickly. "Iza, who raised her, had another daughter as you know: Uba, our medicine woman now. Uba was as a sister to Ayla, and so took Ayla's son when Ayla passed to the spirit world. I took Uba to my hearth this winter, when she lost her mate."

Varn couldn't ignore it any longer. "There has been much death here, Broud."

Broud nodded, unwilling to elaborate just yet. "Have you changed your mind about the girl? What was her name?"

"Ura," Varn said. "Her mother Oda had an infected tooth this winter, and she died. Her mate does not wish to keep Oda's daughter at his hearth. She is deformed, you know," Varn said firmly, in case Broud did not remember. "Oda and Ayla thought the boy and girl would be fit for each other, since both may have difficulty finding other mates."

Broud grunted dismissively at this, but said anyway, "I understand. What of Oda's other children? Were there any? Were they deformed as well?"

"There was a child, another girl," Varn explained. He sighed heavily, preparing Broud for an unpleasant subject. "You see, Oda was attacked when her first daughter was newborn. Some men of the Others ran down on her when she was on a mammoth hunting trip. They wanted to relieve their needs, and so they threw her down without any signal. The baby was crushed. Oda's totem was defeated shortly after, and she wished for a girl. Her mate believes this led to Ura's deformity, but I am not so sure. Oda was never quite right after the Others injured her."

Broud felt a hot anger creep burning into his blood. But then his eyes fell over Durc, his son, and he thought sharply, Durc is not deformed! And neither is Ura. They are mixed. Wasn't that what Ayla had said? That all of her babies would be different? The leader frowned, his gaze now settling on Kyani. Not for the first time, he was afraid of how the child would appear, and what he would have to decide if the baby was too shocking in appearance.

Varn misunderstood Broud's grave expression and said quickly, "The girl may be strange looking, but Oda has taught her to work hard, and to be obedient. She will make a good mate."

Broud nodded, and a silence fell over the men. Broud motioned Uba to serve tea, so that he might have a moment alone with his swirling thoughts. It was much for a Clan mind to assimilate at once. Durc, his newly discovered son, needed a mate. For that matter, all the boys needed mates, Brac more than any. It was Brac who needed a girl the most; the boy was ready for one. If Aga had a girl, it would be many years yet before the girl would be old enough for Brac. _Well,_ Broud thought, _they are asking me to take a girl into my cave, a girl who will need food and guidance, making more work for my women. There ought to be a price paid for this._ Broud knew immediately what he wanted from Varn: another girl, a beautiful and submissive girl on the edge of womanhood for his oldest son Brac.

But still, the specter of Ura's parentage haunted him. This he could do nothing about. Kyani's child would come shaped as the spirits wished. He pictured the two flame haired girls in his vision, but he could remember nothing more than that they were both exquisite. Could a mixing of spirits produce something beautiful? Broud did not think so much about Durc's differences anymore. The boy was leaner and taller and his face was a great deal like Ayla's, but all Broud saw now was that Durc's long legs made him fast, and his long arms could maneuver his small spear in interesting and thought-provoking ways. He thought unbidden of the atlatl used by the Others, which led him to remember the vicious attack that had taken Oga's life. Broud narrowed his eyes, and then he looked back at Varn.

"You say Oda was attacked by the Others."

Varn nodded, closing his eyes. "There are many of these men passing through my lands now. Sometimes they seek trade, but more often we avoid each other. And when we do cross paths, it is often unpleasant."

"That is why I have moved my people, Varn. The Others attacked us last spring. My mate was killed, and so was Brun, and so were others."

Kyani, politely silent and waiting for the men to need something from her, gave a little gasp and hid her face. She had not known how Broud's mate died, and tears flooded her eyes. _No wonder he hates them so,_ she thought. Would there be any end to this hatred between foreign peoples? If she loved Broud, and Broud her, why couldn't others at least get along?

"I am deeply grieved to hear this, Broud. They seem to come in endless numbers now. There is nothing in the memories to speak of it, or to tell us what we should do."

"I know what to do, Varn," Broud said with quiet ferocity. "I have moved my people up here and made this place secure. We saw you coming while you were quite far away, and had you been our enemies, we had plans for you."

Varn and his men shuddered, frightened by the blackness in the young leader's eyes and the frigid calm of his disturbing speech. He had known that Broud was a formidable hunter and a fearless man, but what he saw now was the birth of something unknown to the Clan. Broud was a warrior, the only man in the Clan who did not fear the Others, and more, seemed ready and even eager to deal with them. Varn wondered how Broud had come to his decisions, when nothing in the memories could have advised him. "If it would not be presumptuous, I should like to share in a ceremony with you, Broud. Your strength would be a great comfort to me now, and to my hunters here, with so many of these evil beings roaming our land."

Broud nodded, pleased to share his unique strength with his Clan brothers. "I will have my medicine woman and my mog-ur prepare. And when you bring Ura to us-say, in the early autumn, if that works for you-I will show you some of my fortifications and their uses. I will accept Ura as a mate for my Durc, Varn. I will have her raised by my mog-ur's mate, who has no child of her own and can handle the burden of a female child. But there is something I will ask of you in return."

"Anything," Varn said, deeply grateful.

"My eldest, Brac, needs a mate soon. There are no girls in my Clan. Send me Ura, but send me also a girl on the edge of womanhood for Brac. Send me your finest girl, Varn, and I will make her a leader's mate."

"It will be done as you wish, Broud," Varn said, making a gesture of the deepest respect.


	7. Chapter 7

Broud was amazed that she was still so light in his arms.

Kyani wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her tired head against his hard chest. Broud carried her easily out of the cave and into the late spring twilight. The scent of a thousand blossoms made the air rich and fragrant, and crickets and other insects had already begun their humming songs. Overhead the first stars pierced the deepening blue sky, yet the wind was still warm and sweet. A ways from the cave, yet still in the protective glow of the fire, Broud lowered himself easily to the ground, cradling his mate and their unborn child carefully. There was far too much beauty on this warm night for the woman to miss, cooped up in the cave with her burden. "You two are as light as little feathers," he told her, letting his lips linger in her silky sweet hair for a long moment.

"It does not feel that way," Kyani objected softly.

"Soon enough it will be over," Broud said, and his voice and hands carried none of the deep gut fear he felt for her.

The spring had been remarkably quiet. He had rushed Varn and his men away-even though they would have come in handy, had they been trained-because he did not want them caught up in his battle. When he was not hunting he stood on the edge of the promontory with his spear in hand, a silent sentinel ready for his enemies to appear out on the steppe. But they had not come. Broud was not relieved at this; far from it. With each passing day that their attack was delayed, Broud sensed that their mischief was growing. He could not have known that even now Drakav was far to the west, gathering around him a foul company of coarse and disaffected young men. Broud hated waiting; it was one of his greatest weaknesses. Even as a younger man he had often been barely able to contain himself on Brun's hunts, waiting for the older man to finally, finally signal the attack. He wanted the bleach-faced monsters to come. He wanted it over and done.

Broud was not the only one waiting. Kyani suffered as silently as she could, but the child of mixed spirits bore down heavily on her narrow hips. Her body was tortured with a constant ache, and though she had never been sick she was weak and frightened. She spent more and more time with Aga, whose own baby was due a little after Kyani and Broud's child. But most of the time, Kyani slept. It was the only time she could stand the pain in her body, and even then it crept into her dreams, foul dreams of death and tearing and blood.

Broud ran his hands through her hair and rubbed her shoulders softly, wishing he knew how to give her comfort. And what if it was all in vain? What if the baby was grotesque, worse than Durc? What if he could not accept it, or the burdens such a child would impose on his Clan? He was in dread that he would be forced to choose between breaking the heart of his mate and poisoning his Clan with a decrepit, unnatural member.

They spent a long, quiet time under the stars, and then Broud took her back in and coaxed her to take a little of the broth Uba had made. When the fires began to die down, Broud settled into the furs beside Kyani and held her close, his hands protectively spread over the child he desperately hoped would break neither her body nor her heart.

It was in the quiet, early hours of the morning that Kyani felt her first true contraction. The young woman blinked awake and then gasped, and pushed herself up. Uba-barely awake as she nursed Vorn in their furs-quickly came to full consciousness and set the baby down. She crept over to Broud's sleeping roll and asked, "Is it time?"

Kyani blinked back tears. Never in her life had she been so frightened. The pain had been dull, a gentle turning of the muscles in her womb, but she knew it would become fierce and unbearable before long. But wilting with terror was no way to face this great test the Mother and Ursus had together devised for her. Summoning her courage, and all the joy she felt at the thought of sharing in the making of a life with her beloved, Kyani looked at Uba and smiled. "Yes, yes, I think my baby is coming now."

Broud was reluctant to abandon his hearth to the women, but he went to sit with Goov and together they prayed fiercely. Broud looked at his childhood friend and asked discretely, "Goov… What if the baby is deformed?"

"Why should it be?" Goov replied soothingly. "We have had good luck for a long while now. Besides, Ursus Himself gave you this woman, and whatever comes from her should be blessed as well. And Kyani is a good woman; surely she has filled her mind with appropriate thoughts, as the women instructed her to do."

"Yes," Broud agreed hollowly, trapped by his exclusive knowledge, alone in the torment of his doubt. He no longer knew if it was Ayla who had deformed Durc or some inadequacy within his own essence. He could think all he wanted about mixed spirits, but it did him no good. The insecurity that had often senselessly plagued him as a youth, and had been given mighty qualification by Brun's humiliating words, sat heavily on the leader.

As the sun rose, all the women saving Aga gathered at the leader's hearth, eager to help the young woman born to the Others along. Uba had ready all the herbs used at childbirth, but she was reluctant to give the woman anything which might make her labor more powerful. And those that dulled pain often weakened the muscles needed to expel the child.

"It doesn't hurt so much," Kyani said, sitting comfortably on special furs that would be discarded with the afterbirth, because Broud had determined that bare hide was not good enough for his mate. The women, though it was their domain, had been silenced when they warned that it was not such a good idea. They knew the specially selected, lovingly prepared and gorgeous fur would be rank with sweat, amniotic fluid, and blood before long. But the young woman, an untried maiden rather than a mother, had no idea of this; as ever, she felt pampered and adored by Broud.

The contractions came two an hour and were quite gentle. Ona, Ovra, and Kyani chatted happily about babies, and Ovra's excitement that Broud had given her Ura for a daughter. She had longed for a child for many years.

"What about the other girl, Brac's mate?" Ona asked Kyani.

"She will stay with us until they are ready for their own hearth," Kyani said, adding with a smile, "I think it's best for them, to get to know each other before they are mated. All of you knew your mates for a while first, didn't you?"

Ona, who was now a sister-mate with Ovra, nodded happily. She hadn't particularly enjoyed the attentions of the gruff old Grod, and Goov was young, handsome, and powerful. Her only concern was falling pregnant, afraid that it would hurt Ovra too much. But though Broud had only considered Ovra's lighter workload when assigning her Ura, it had been a kindness to give Ovra a daughter in the child Ura.

In the afternoon a bloody show came, telling Uba that the young woman's womb had truly opened. It was then that the first powerful contractions came on. If Kyani had been having a child by a man of her own kind, those contractions would serve to open her womb further while moving the child into place. If the child wasn't mixed, its head would now be nestling sideways at the opening of Kyani's hips so that it could pass successfully into the birth canal, conforming its position to where the young woman's hips and birth canal were at their widest. The baby would respond to the gentle suggestions of the mother's contractions, but it would make its precise series of corkscrew like rotations in response to its own biological drive. As it was, Broud's baby sat heavily on her hips facing the young woman's spine, the position it would expect to be born in. Broud's baby had no expectation that it would find its path obstructed by hard, narrow hips and a tight birth canal that changed its widest places in order to fit to the girl's slim body. The baby's brain knew of no reason why it should turn about so. Kyani's body determined that the child was inappropriately placed, but the baby had no biological understanding of the more subtle cues of its mother's body. Now, as Kyani advanced into the next stage of labor, her body became more aggressive at trying to rotate a child who would not move any way but down. Her contractions picked up in intensity, her body's desperate attempt to spin what it felt to be a particularly large and stubborn baby. Kyani knew nothing of this internal battle, but when the first deep pain rolled through her abdomen, she hardened herself against fear, feeling a deep satisfaction instead as she thought that the event was moving along more quickly than she had anticipated. She turned her face to her shoulder and squeezed Uba's hand, bearing the pain with a stoic silence that impressed the other women.

But these new contractions hurt so much, and came so quickly on the heels of the last, that Kyani's fear rose hard. She could almost taste her fear, sour and metallic. She wanted to pray to the Great Mother now, for the masculine Ursus who had created this baby had no more work to do here. Kyani could not find her peace with all the chatty women around her, and she could not find it in the darkness of the cave. She felt the Great Mother best sitting under the open sky with the sun on her face and the wind playing in her hair. "Uba, Ovra," she said to the two closest women, "Help me up."

"You wish to walk now?" Uba asked. "I don't think you need to. Everything is moving along quickly, and you'll want to conserve your strength."

Kyani shook her head adamantly, tossing her rich black mane about. "I just want to go outside for a moment, Uba. Please, help me."

Kyani was first woman now. No woman could gainsay her, and so they helped her up. Uba and Ovra held her slender arms and Ona followed behind. Uka and Ebra exchanged a curious glance but remained behind, keeping the water at a boil incase Uba needed to make a quick infusion or tea.

"Now help me sit," Kyani said, and so they held her steady as she lowered her body to the ground. The day was fair and bright, with brilliant blossoms billowing in the wind as butterflies and hummingbirds passed flower to flower, sampling the sweet nectar. Birds sang on the wind and in the distance, the highest mountain peaks still crowned with dusty snow and glaciers of packed ice winked playfully in the sun. All the works of the Great Mother made a sweet assault on the young woman's senses and she felt herself at last to be an integral part of the delicate web of life. Another hard contraction came, and Kyani bowed her head, her palms held up, praying silently that she might please the Mother with her strength and courage. She prayed for a healthy baby.

"What's she doing?" Ona gestured in silence behind Kyani.

"I think she's talking to the spirits!" Ovra exclaimed.

"Women don't talk to the spirits!" Ona protested. "What would Broud think?"

Ovra's eyes were wide as she said somewhat scandelously, "Has anyone _ever_ known what Broud thinks?"

"Quit it, both of you," Uba commanded sharply. "She is talking to the spirits of her people, I think. They have female spirits. She is seeking their guidance, and she will need it before this is over. Remember Ayla's ordeal?"

The women shuddered in unison, nodding.

After a while, Kyani looked over her shoulder and the women though that she was incredibly beautiful. There seemed to be a glow to her that came from within, illuminating her ivory skin and shining in her deep violet eyes. "I am ready," she said.

Kyani had found a measure of peace, but the pain was so hard it took a long time to walk the ten or so steps back to the cave. She was determined to ride through the pain, in silence if she could, because she knew that good Clan women accepted their suffering with as little vocal complaint as possible. She wanted to make everyone-Broud most of all-proud of her. She had no idea that the pain shouldn't be so strong yet, nor that her body was spending the bulk of its strength in a losing battle with a baby that wouldn't budge.

By nightfall, Uba was worried. The young woman was fully dialated and her contractions were powerful, all signs to indicate that delivery should be forthcoming. But when she examined Kyani she still saw that the baby had not moved into the birth canal. Kyani was desperately clinging to the Mother's unseen hand, but the pain in her body was so great that even rational thought was becoming impossible. She felt a sudden rush of wet warmth as her waters broke and everyone thought that now, at last, the baby would come. But there was no progress and the contractions were at a fever pitch, and the girl could hardly stand it anymore. She had no rest as one came on the back of another. Her body had no time to recover its strength. She had long since abandoned her silence and across the cave, Broud shuddered with his mate's every scream. By mid-night, Kyani was sobbing as her strength dwindled, and still there was no progress.

"What can you give her?" Ebra demanded. "There has to be something. She's going to have a dry birth as it is. The baby must come soon, or she won't have any strength left to deliver it."

"I've given her a tonic to strengthen her womb already, and for pain. I don't dare give her anything to speed the birth, though, Ebra. Those herbs work by speeding and strengthening contractions. Her problem is not weak contractions. She's just too small, too different," Uba said, shaking her head.

"This can't go on much longer," Ebra warned. Ovra and Ona, who had left Kyani in shifts to tend to Goov, looked on with their hands clasped in fear.

Suddenly Kyani let out a murderous, terrifying scream. She collapsed from the birthing position, falling back onto the sweaty, wet furs and sobbing wildly. Uba was over her quickly. "What is it? What is it, Kyani?"

"Another contraction?" Ebra suggested to the other women.

But Kyani, moaning and gasping, could hardly look up at Uba. "My bones are breaking," she gestured weakly. And then, a rush of blood spilt over her pale thighs. Uba could barely get the girl to open her legs to examine her.

"Baby's coming now," Uba said firmly, and the women jumped into position. Ebra prepared soft, clean skins to wash the child while Ovra brought forth the sinew stained with sacred red ochre to tie off the umbilical cord. But an hour passed, and then two, and Kyani's wild sobs became weaker. And every time her stomach tightened, a new wash of blood came from her body. Even the contractions, now, were weakening. She needed to push, and she had no strength.

The women had little hope now. Broud was going to lose his mate. The girl couldn't push; she couldn't even sit up to get herself into the proper position. Ebra and Ovra held her legs open and Uba hovered, her hands covered in Kyani's blood. Broud's baby was barreling its way into the world, but for every inch it moved forward it felt itself trapped off again. Kyani was beyond consciousness now. She was awake but uncomprehending. She shook violently, sweat poured from her brow, and every so often she would retch and bring up bile from her quivering stomach. She felt her bones breaking. She felt her body ripping apart. She would not have known her name if asked, or why she was being tortured so, only that she wanted it to end. When reality did come back to her, in broken waves, screams tore from her lips and she cried out for Myriana, forgetting where she was. "Make it stop!" she begged.

She didn't even feel Uba examining her. Uba said, "Very soon now," but whether the medicine woman meant that the baby would be born soon or the girl would shatter, tear in two, and bleed to death, no one was sure. Kyani's contractions were irregular, now weakening, now peaking in cruel intensity as if her body was drawing on some deep and dwindling reserve, a last shot at self-preservation, and yet failing at the attempt. Her belly gripped again and Kyani gave a weak and sobbing scream. She could do no more. Darkness beckoned her. She could not feel the Mother, only the hammering of pain and the seduction of that empty place where it no more pain would be felt.

Broud couldn't stand it anymore. The men shouted in concern, trying to call him back, but Broud leaped over the hearthstones and ran to her. The women around Kyani were horrified at this break with ancient custom. Men were not to attend births!

"Enough, enough!" he screamed, shoving his medicine woman away. "You are killing her!" he accused Uba furiously as he sank down by his dying mate, sweeping her sweat-stained hair from her face. "So much blood…" he moaned. "Is this right? This can't be right!"

Uba shook her head. There was nothing more to say.

"What must be done? What's happening?"

"She has to push the baby out. She can't. She has nothing left. The baby is still too far away for me to grasp or safely pull. I'm sorry, Broud. There is nothing more to be done."

No, no, no! Broud bit his lips and clenched his fists. He didn't know a thing about childbirth but he knew he wasn't going to give Kyani up so easily. He scooped her up in his arms, raising her from the filthy, bloody furs. He knelt behind her, a sob escaping his throat as her head lolled forward. "All right, now," he told her, his words gruff and quiet and his hands shaking as he spoke. He clutched her with his powerful arms and said, "Ki-ani, wake up! Wake up, hear me!"

The sound of Broud's voice dragged the dying girl back into the present, and this made her cry because she knew she was losing him and her child. She moaned his name softly. Her eyes flickered open, and tears washed over her face. "I can't do it," she cried, though her voice was very weak and her hands could not move at all. Her body had spent itself on trying to turn the child. Even if she could find the strength to push, the pain was hideous as the baby tore down through her body in a way it was never meant to come. Her only hope was in the chemicals pumping through her body that made a woman's joints slip and come apart, stretching her hips. But it was a very little hope, and the baby was very large and heavy, and she was but a fragile, narrow bodied girl. "I can't," she breathed again.

"You will!" Broud ordered her desperately. "You're going to do what I tell you to do, and Uba tells you to do, and in a little bit you're going to hold our baby in your arms and rest on clean furs."

"No… Broud… Please, I can't. It's too much. Make it stop." Death was calling hard now, calling her to a dark and empty place, a cool and quiet place where her cruel pain would be banished.

"Don't you do this to me!" Broud cried in a fury, squeezing her hard. "Don't you dare do this to me now! Listen, listen… You… You thought I was too much, didn't you? But we found our way... You let me in, and we found our way, and we are happy now!"

"Yes," she whispered, dying. Another contraction, another brutal advance, another wash of blood spilt down her legs.

Broud screamed in his rage. "So let my baby come! Give up and let him come! Stop fighting him! Relax, let him come!"

The women turned to each other, wild with shock. What did he mean, his baby? What was the leader talking about now? What was he telling her to do? She needed to strain and push, not relax!

"Let him go," Broud moaned, clutching her to his chest. "Ursus and the Mother made this child, he needs to be born! Don't you remember? Can't you feel them with you now?"

Kyani drew a shaking breath, and closed her eyes again, trying, though her earlier prayers felt very far away now, in this world of unthinkable pain. "Yes…" she gasped, struggling for his sake with the same loyal heart that had allowed her to face Drakav with only her small skinning knife when he had threatened Broud.

"So let him come. Relax your body and let him come. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, yes!" she cried at last. Stop fighting. Stop resisting. Soften and accept the pain, and accept the child, even if he is killing you with pain.

Broud, determined, fearless now, looked to Uba. "Now what must she do?"

"Push," Uba said, leaning over and gripping the girl's sallow, wet cheeks. "Ki-ani, look and me. Hear me. See my words."

The girl's unfocused violet gaze swept over the medicine woman's face. _By Ursus,_ Uba thought, _she's got nothing left! How will she push?_ Nonetheless, Uba told her what to do. "When the pain comes again, I want you to tuck your chin to your chest and push from your belly. Push with all the strength you can."

"No strength," Kyani told her bleakly.

"Use mine!" Broud demanded, locking his arms around her. He planted his hands on her round belly, preparing to push the baby out himself if he had to. "Use my strength, Ki-ani, please. Please," he moaned, whispering into her ear, "Please, I can't lose you. I will die if you leave me!"

Her fingers draped listlessly over his powerful arm. The pain never seemed to go away, but Kyani, struggling to live once more, thought she could detect a peak to it. The contraction rose to a murderous intensity and then fell away. _Great Mother, _she prayed with the little will she had left, _let me do this, please. Let me have my baby, the baby you granted to me and Broud! _She had been sure that her mate was given to her by Ursus and the Mother. Though she had never shared in Broud's ceremonies, her own intuition told her that the passion she felt for Broud was somehow not all her own, but a fire lit by fate. _How can it be, then, that I will die right now, and my baby will die? I don't believe it was all for nothing!_

The pain began to rise again. Uba, feeling her stomach, seeing it tighten impossibly hard again, cried, "Push! Push, Ki-ani, now!"

The young woman had no strength to even scream, but she dug deep and grit her teeth. Chin pressed to chest she pushed and strained until she felt her heart exploding, and then she would have fallen back but for her mate's strong arms locked around her chest, refusing her.

"Good, good!" Uba cried. "Just two more, now, all right?" The medicine woman was stunned at the hidden strength of the fragile girl. But with the next push her heart sank again, and she understood some of Kyani's difficulty. The mixed child, favoring the father, had tried to drop straight. Kyani's body had used almost all of her power to try and rotate the baby before it left her womb, rather than to push the child along the birth canal and out. Mother and child had fought each other, neither having success. Now Uba saw that the baby was emerging half-spun, one shoulder leading the way. Uba knew that the baby should already be dead-suffocated by a crushed imbillical cord-and Kyani would surely bleed to death. She tried to hide this from the struggling young woman. "You're doing great, Ki-ani, just one more!"

Kyani pushed. Broud's hands bore down on the top of her belly. Uba did what she could to assist. In a final rush of blood, Broud and Kyani's child came into the world.

A shrill, angry scream echoed through the cave, shocking everyone who had prepared themselves for the silence of death. Uba had always expected a deformed child, but now her jaw dropped in shock. She held the child, miraculously unharmed, in a soft hide as Ebra tied off the cord and then cleaned the baby's bloody face.

"What, what?" Broud demanded, also terrified as he held Kyani in his arms.

Ebra crept close to her son, and knelt down beside him. She pulled the hide back, eyes gleaming. Broud gasped, and Ebra nodded. "She is perfect, my son. She is beautiful."

* * *

><p>"Hold your baby," Broud said gently, laying the child on Kyani's chest. The sight of his mate's beautiful face broke his heart. She had two huge, ugly black eyes from straining to push the child out, and her skin was deadly pale, as white as the chalk-bleached faces of her murderous kin. Her lips were bitten bloody. But her eyes were open, barely, and a faint smile formed at the corners of her soft mouth.<p>

"A little girl," she breathed, a faint thrill of victory ringing in her heart. She looked up at her mate and, knowing his upbringing and temperament, asked, slowly, "Did you want another son?"

Broud settled beside them, speaking blasphemy as he stroked first the cheek of his daughter, and then his mate. "I wanted _you_, Ki-ani. You gave me a living child, so I am pleased. And the Clan needs daughters. And she…" he stammered in his shock, "She is incredible, like you."

The baby was a delicate blend of Clan and modern traits. Her hair, drying now, was Ebra's flame red, just like in Broud's vision. Red hair was a trait still exclusive to Clan people. The deep set of her eyes was Clan. The brow ridges were there, but not very heavy. Her bones and short stature were Clan through and through; yet even here there were hints of Kyani's delicacy, and when the child grew she would be a lighter, more refined version of a Clan woman. The baby's forehead was something in between, indescribable, neither too high nor too low. But her small nose and full lips were fully the mother's, and so was the color of her eyes. Hours after birth, the deep milky blue that newborn babies of the Others had was already showing sparks of deep sunset purple.

"What do you want to call her?" Broud asked, ignoring the shocked gasps of Ebra and Uba. Broud had never been so involved in the process of birth, and he had never in his life seen a birth so agonizing. If that didn't give the woman some right to name her child, what sense did anything make? Of course, the baby would not be formally named for seven days, if she lived, but Broud felt that if the child had survived such an insane birth, surely Ursus protected her and would not end her life now!

Kyani, weaker than her own newborn, tried to cuddle the baby close. She already knew what she would call Broud's child, had it been a girl. "Ebra," she said quietly. "For your-our-mother."

Broud's eyes smiled, but he shook his head. "My mother lives. That is not our way."

"Oh…" Kyani breathed, nodding. "Well, then… What… was your first… mate's name?"

If Broud's eyes could have flooded with tears they would have. "Oga," he said, very quietly. He could rarely even think of the woman's name, it was such a painful thing for him. He had expected Kyani to want a name from her birth tongue. He had wanted to give that to her, as a gift. He had never expected her to speak of Oga.

"Then… if it's acceptable… I would like her to be named Oga. She should not have died, Broud. But even though she did… she is a part of our family, too."

Broud closed his eyes, shaken by the depths of Kyani's love for him. "Oga," he repeated softly, the name bringing him back to his secure and confident childhood, before it all went wrong. His heart warmed and he opened his eyes, and he cupped his hands over his little girl's soft head. "Oga, then. I will tell Goov it must be so. Welcome to our family, little Oga."

The sun was rising when Broud ran out to the promontory. His scream of victory rose out from his guts and rang down from the mountains and across the steppes. In the distance, a herd of Giant Deer tore off running at the primitive and victorious roar. It was done. Kyani was alive, the baby was alive, and she was breathtaking to behold. Oga was the child of his vision, and now more than ever Broud knew that the spirits loved him, that Ursus favored him, and that he would have success in all his desires and undertakings. The confidence that had been shaken now flooded the leader's body like a potent drug, and he raised his face to the sky, and he knew himself to be a great lord, the master of his world.

* * *

><p>"You'll have to be careful with her," Uba warned Broud as they gazed over the sleeping mother and child that night.<p>

"You don't have to tell me that, Uba," Broud said, flushed with a rapturous delight that would not abate even with the annoyance of Uba instructing him.

"Of course not, forgive me. But she will take a long time in healing, and she will have scars inside. The baby tore her up. She might have pain in the future, when you… when you relieve your needs. Until she is accustomed to it again."

Broud sucked his teeth in irritation and looked down on his second mate. "You don't need to tell me that, either. I know how to take care of my woman. You've no idea how hard it was with her at first, but here we are. And she had a beautiful baby, didn't she?"

Uba bowed her head. Officially, the baby was not to be acknowledged until she had survived six more days, until Goov, who kept the count, announced that the baby was accepted into the Clan. But at Broud's hearth, and truly throughout the cave, it was impossible not to marvel at the miracle of the little girl's survival. "She is beautiful, Broud."

"I don't know how I'll keep away from Ki-ani," Broud admitted. "I don't know that I can."

It was Clan belief that a woman could swallow a man's totem when she was close to him. When a woman menstruated, it meant that she had defeated his totem, and men were in dread of this invisible, imperceivable power of women, who seemed in all other ways to be the weaker sex. During this time, a woman's power was perceived to be so great that if a man looked at her or acknowledged her, is own totem could be sucked away from him. Clan women isolated themselves at their hearths during menstruation; a girl's first period was especially significant, and for this time, she was required to leave the cave and endure her bleeding alone, a rite of passage into womanhood that some young women never survived.

When a baby was born, a woman isolated herself at her hearth for seven days. Her mate often ignored her completely, superstitious and fearful of her bleeding. After the baby was named, the woman could leave her hearth but speak only to other women until her bleeding was over. A man's other mate, or other women, would cook for him. A bleeding woman could touch nothing a man could touch. After seven days the woman could leave her hearth, but she was expected to interact only with other women.

But Broud couldn't torture himself by ignoring Kyani, not after he had come so close to losing her. Her bleeding was very light, since she had lost so much blood already, and besides, he longed to hold her and kiss her and reassure himself that she belonged to him still, and not to the spirit world which had tried so hard to claim her. "I'll tell Goov to make me a charm, like the ones he makes for all the men at the naming ceremony. But I'll not keep away from her."

"You are leader," Uba shrugged. "I suppose you can do what you will."

Broud agreed with this. Brun had always told him that a leader had less freedom than a woman, but Broud thought this couldn't be true. A leader carried a heavy burden. He was responsible for every man, woman, and child in his Clan. Surely he deserved a little freedom as a reward?

He told Goov-who had expected it anyway-to make him a charm so that he could hold his mate in her convalescence. And then, in the relative privacy of his hearth, Broud curled around his mate's injured, shaking body. He held her in his warm, strong arms and watched with amazement as Kyani held the baby close, kissing and cuddling the little flame haired girl and never neglecting to keep the baby clean and comfortable. Such a woman, Broud thought, such a wonderful woman. Her body had been through a torture like none Broud had ever seen, and yet every day she smiled a little more, she tried to move around a little more. She might whimper in her sleep and her eyes might flush with tears when she moved too fast, but she never complained. She was in love with her little daughter and she clutched the baby to her breast as Uba showed her to do. And for all the injury Kyani had took, her body still managed to send down her milk, and the baby sucked greedily and plumped out over those first few days. And why should Kyani not have rich milk, Broud thought? Why should the baby not thrive? Ursus had blessed Broud, and the leader, growing cocky once again, had no doubt that all things would be well from then on.

* * *

><p>"Brac, it's time for you to go on your manhood hunt," Broud announced proudly one morning, hands on his hips as he looked over his three strong boys, just waking in the dawn.<p>

Brac felt a flush of pride, yet he was afraid. Was he not much younger than was common for a first hunt? The boy was eight years old now, and he felt the stirrings of manhood but not yet the strength. "Do you think I can?" He could not imagine himself thrusting a spear into a mighty beast, yet alone killing one.

"Isn't that what I said? There is a herd of aurochs grazing on the steppe. Hurry, get your spear and join the men outside the cave." Broud turned his back on his son and left the cave.

The summer grasses were high around the creeping band of hunters. Not far away, a herd of aurochs moved slowly along, grazing as they went. The wind blew steadily from the north, and the beasts did not catch the scent from the predators stalking them. The animals, like all the large game hunted by the Clan, taller at the withers than even Goov, the tallest of the men. Their two sharp horns could spell death for any hunter who moved too fast. As ever, Broud, crouched low in the grass, honed his focus in on animals that were weak or pregnant, or careless enough to begin a grazing path that would lead them away from their herd.

His heart pounded as he watched. He was unable to push the thoughts of his son beside him from his mind. As Brun had done for him, Broud wanted Brac to strike the killing blow. The boy was younger than Broud had been but these were different times and the boy had come to his maturity faster, having both more tragedy and more responsibility thrust on his narrow young shoulders. It was important to Broud that Brac should feel the same sense of triumph Broud had felt when he killed the bison so many years before. It was also crucial that Brac win the respect of the other hunters. Broud wanted an animal that would not seem like too easy of a challenge, and he thought he was prepared to sit for a long time watching.

But the young bull that first wandered away from the herd early was too great a temptation. He was neither too big nor too small, and Broud thought that killing such a creature would give Brac a great rush of pride and confidence. The boy would be taking his mate this fall, so long as the female was ready for him. Brac would need that confidence to start his own hearth, and to command his mate as he should. He gestured discretely to his son. "That's the one."

"That big bull?" Brac returned, wide eyed.

Broud nodded, amused. "That's your kill, Brac." He had no doubt that his son, though young, wound summon both the courage and the strength required to face down and spear the massive bull. Broud threw the signs to the other hunters, and they boldly crept through the grass, beginning the dangerous process of cutting the young bull from the safety of his herd.

Suddenly Goov leaped up from the grass, screaming and shaking his spear. The animals bolted, their hooves beating the ground in a thundering stampede. Dumb with fear the herd plunged forward, and the young bull's first instinct was to join them. But it was then that Broud burst forth, chasing the bull down, pushing the terrified creature away from the safety of his herd and towards a clutch of boulders just before the land began to drop down into a rocky ravine. Broud loved the chase almost as much as he loved the kill. He ran faster and farther than the other men, and only regretfully, with his lungs bursting, gave the chase over to Goov. They ran the young bull until the creature's strength began to sap, and on the last leg of the chase young Brac took over, driving the creature to the pre-determined kill point. Broud-gasping and panting-almost howled in pride as he saw his son's strong legs beating down the grass. The boy is fearless, he thought with true satisfaction.

Broud's love of the hunt and the kill unleashed a primitive joy in him that was not unlike lust, the hard drive of his body when it frantically sought climax. The harder he ran down the beast, the greater was his thirst for the moment when the first blood gushed forth, and on this day there was an even greater goal in sight, the initiation of his firstborn son into the thrilling and essential world of blood-sport. He did not see Goov gesturing to him that the beast didn't seem quite spent. Broud, full of confidence and blood lust and raw pride, sent his young son forth spear in hand to impale the panting beast.

It all seemed to happen so slowly. Broud, Droog, Grod, and Goov cornered the beast against the rocks while Brac made his way forward. Broud frowned then, because the boy seemed too wary. Brac was not swollen with the love of the kill, he was terrified of the giant blowing and snorting before him. His small hand had a sweaty grasp on his spear and his heart beat so loud he was sure the animal could hear it. And sure enough, the beast sensed the small two-legged creature's reluctance, and it filled the mighty aurochs with an anxious fury, a last moment drive of resistance against the fate the men had planned for it.

Before the other men could react, the bull surged forth, its hooves battering the ground, its head slung low and its two lethal, gleaming horns fixed on the boy. The collision was almost too quick for the eye to see. Brac was lifted into the air by the mighty head and flung over the beast's horns, and then tossed like an empty water sack to the ground. He did not move.

Broud screamed and raced forward. In one swift leap he flew at the aurochs and drove his hard spear into the animal's heart and lungs both, but there was no ecstatic sensation of release as the beast's blood shot forth and the giant collapsed defeated to the ground. Broud ran to his son, crumpled and broken on the dusty earth. Brac's leg was twisted to an impossible degree from his hips, and his eyes were closed.

Broud cursed himself as he stood over his son's fur. A great bruise had formed on the side of the boy's skull, and it was this that worried Uba even more than the broken leg she had easily set. Night had fallen and the boy still did not wake. The longer he slept, the greater was the chance that he would never wake.

Kyani set the sleeping Oga down and pushed herself up. She made her slow way to Broud's side and slipped her arms around his back, but the leader cringed at her touch.

"He wasn't ready," Broud said, horrified. "He all but told me, and I didn't hear him. But the aurochs knew. Ki-ani, Ki-ani, what have I done? Brac is to be leader after me. I cannot lose him!"

The young woman took Broud's hand. "You have to eat something," she said quietly. "Uba knows what she's doing." Broud had been standing over the boy for hours now. If he didn't eat, and rest, his own strength would give out. Kyani had never seen Broud in such despair, not even when he had beaten Durc.

"I rushed him," Broud moaned, his hands falling away even as he tried to finish his sentence. "I rushed him, and I didn't see that the aurochs was not yet drained. I sent him to his death, Ki-ani!" Broud no longer believed that he was untouchable. He no longer believed that Ursus favored him above all others. He had made a stupid, amateurish mistake, and it would cost him his firstborn son, Oga's son.

"No, shh, no. He will not die," Kyani said, but her words lacked confidence. "Please, come sit. Eat."

Broud brushed her off. He knelt down at Brac's side, sweeping the boy's dark hair away from his still face. He couldn't eat, he couldn't rest. Not while Brac hung on the edge of the spirit world. Broud crumpled down at the boy's side, taking up a sick and mournful vigil over his injured son.

* * *

><p>"Tell me, Drugan, do you have the heart or not? Will you join me on my righteous quest?" Drakav stood beside Kieran, eager for Drugan's answer, eager to move on to the next camp to recruit more men. Already three men stood behind him, raw and powerful men with no attachments to anything save their spears and their thirst for adventure. Ilona, the blue eyed, blonde haired woman, stood in the back watching the scene with a mixture of contempt and fascination. She, Drakav had told her, had her own part to play when the time came for their revenge.<p>

The black-eyed man of the River People narrowed his beading eyes. He looked around his small, filthy shelter, where no woman had ever wanted to make her presence felt. Across the shelter Drugan's younger brother Daren lay in a drunken stupor, vomit on his badly worn clothes. There was nothing here for Drugan. Nothing but a woman who didn't want him and memories of the status he could have had, before that witch of a leader's mate had stripped his rank after he had soundly beaten her son in a dispute over the furs of a bison they had killed together. The son didn't survive and neither had Drugan's reputation as a hunter, as a man. He was not honored among his people. No family would give him their daughter to mate. No hunter dared join him on an excursion to seek meat, no matter how well known he was for his skill with a knife. The hunters thought Drugan would just as easily slip it into their backs.

"Ahh, why not?" Drugan declared, standing up. He shuffled across the shelter and gave his sleeping brother a kick. The man moaned and looked up, shading the firelight with a hand over his eyes. "Brother! Want to go kill some Flatheads?"

Daren smacked his lips for a moment, coming awake. And then he gave a leering grin and started laughing, nodding his head.

Drugan joined in the laughter and turned back to Drakav. "We'll come."

* * *

><p>"My boy, my son," Broud said quietly, the light coming back into his dark eyes for the first time in two days.<p>

"Don't try to get up, Brac," Uba gestured. "Your leg is broken and you've been unconscious for some time. Do you remember where you are?"

Brac nodded, flinching at the pain in his head. He raised his hand to his mouth, telling Uba that he was thirsty. She raised his head and helped him drink, satisfied to see that he had his right mind, that he wanted water. She would be more happy when he took some food, but for now she would restrict him to broth.

"Will he heal?" Broud asked the medicine woman. For the second time that summer, he found himself to be, once again, completely in the power of a woman. It was never something he had expected to feel as a child. As a leader he had come to care deeply for all his people. But it was only now, after Oga's birth and Brac's injury that he was growing to respect his women.

"In time, I think," Uba said. Broud could hope for no more.

"I made a mistake, Goov," Broud told his mog-ur that night, as the men waited patiently for their ceremony to begin.

Goov tactfully said nothing. The others had thought that Broud, though strange and frightening now, had been cured of his youthful folly. Goov knew better. No one capable of making such fatal mistakes could be fixed overnight, or even in the span of a few moons, by the love of a good woman alone. But neither did Broud blame anyone save himself, and that was a great change. Perhaps with the threatened loss of Brac, Broud had learned a hard lesson. Goov could only hope so. Outside their cave the fortified mountain reminded the mog-ur daily that the greatest threat the Clan had ever faced was steadily approaching. The men of the others who haunted Goov's meditation had not yet manifested in physical form, but they were out there, and they would not easily forget Broud's attack on their camp, nor the beautiful woman he had somehow taken from them.

But the summer was quiet. Baby Oga was a delight, and Aga had a daughter as well, Suki. It seemed that the Clan would have a future after all. Brac healed slowly, but no one knew that it was his mind that had broken worst of all. He was terrified to hunt now, terrified even to touch a spear. Brac could never speak of this to Broud, or any man, and certainly he couldn't tell a woman. A man who could not hunt was useless, no man at all. He knew that Broud had secured a mate for him, a girl who even now was making her way towards their cave, and he dreaded the sight of her. She, whoever she was, had been told to expect a young man, the pride of the leader's hearth who was supposed to become a hunter of great prowess and a leader himself. Brac had not even drawn blood from the aurochs, and no one had ever failed so greatly on their manhood hunt. No ceremony had been held for him. And Brac couldn't, for all the life in him, imagine going back down to that awful steppe and trying again.


	8. Chapter 8

Kyani opened her eyes as she felt Oga cuddling against her chest, seeking nourishment. The faint dawn light that streamed into the cave had a magical feel to it, and it seemed as if the very air was muffled and softened. It was quite cold. She nursed the baby and changed her swaddling, then set her down and climbed out of bed, pulling her luxurious silver fox-fur wrap over her already slender body before she stoked the fire. She passed around the gleaming rock formations, feeling the fresh, frigid air on her face. An early snowstorm had blown in overnight, and as the young woman approached the mouth of the cave she could see nothing but glistening white and pastel skies. She smiled at the sight and hugged her arms around her body, spending a long moment reveling in the beauty of snow on bright autumn leaves, slick black branches, and deep green pines. Never did a day pass when Kyani didn't take a moment to be grateful for her life, and to appreciate the world around her. In her every movement, she felt the change that childbirth had wrought in her body. The pain and sucking fatigue had left slowly, but what remained was the most incredible and powerful feeling that Kyani could not describe, only that surely it was what the Great Mother felt with every breath She took. Kyani had learned that her slender body held a deeper strength than she had imagined possible. She was learning, every day, that her body was a source of life for little Oga, who nursed from the young woman's full round breasts. Most of all Kyani felt her hips, which had widened with the birth to make her waist seem all the more narrow. When she walked she could feel her hips swing and switch with pure feminine allure, and she finally understood part of what made a Clan woman's gait so unlike the wide stride of the women of her birth tribe. She knew it drove Broud half-crazy to watch her walk away from him. Their love-making had commenced when the summer grasses turned golden, and he had been tender, and it had been difficult and awkward, but Kyani had learned the power of her own body and soon she brought it to bear on the leader in ways that made him tremble and shake for long moments after they had fallen apart. There was no fear of another child, for she was nursing. There was only their own pleasure, the magic of their love, which Kyani had thought to lose during the ordeal of Oga's birth. Now everything was sacred to the young woman who had learned to walk in two worlds. Kyani had found the magic in ordinary things, and she felt a deep delighted pleasure, and a profound gratitude for her life, as she looked out on a world washed in glittering white.

But then she frowned slightly, thinking of Varn and his companions, and the two young girls, who should have arrived already. The snow was beautiful only to those who had a safe warm home; for travelers, it could be death. She said a prayer to Ursus and the Mother that they would be brought safely through the storm, and then she returned to her hearth. She grinned at the sweet sight of Broud curled up with baby Oga, his thick strong arms around the tiny girl who cuddled into his massive chest. She slid under the furs beside the baby, pressing her legs against Broud's warm body. The leader stirred immediately. He woke and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear, and kissed his baby on her little red head. Kyani took the baby into her arms but Broud shook his head.

"Go give her to Uba," he gestured in silence, his eyes flashing.

Kyani bit her lips, hesitant to wake the hard working medicine woman.

"Go," Broud repeated, putting his voice into it. "I am jealous for your kisses."

Kyani's soft glittering laughter woke Uba. She lay the little girl down next to the toddler Vorn, and Uba shook her head at the sweet folly. Uba was not jealous. She was not in love with Broud, pleased though she was at the man he had become. She was content to raise her son at Broud's busy hearth. Her only sadness was the lack of a daughter, which had not come even though Broud had taken her many times since-or, in her mind, even though she was close to such a powerful male totem. Uba thought sadly that Vorn was the only child she would be allowed. Who, then, would take her place as medicine woman? Uba gladly cuddled down into her furs with the two children, turning her head away from Broud's furs as Kyani crept back to the leader.

"It has snowed," Kyani said quietly as Broud pulled her close.

"Mmhmm," he muttered carelessly, pushing her down beneath him. Greedily, jealously, he swept the furs up over their heads, and warmth and darkness and passion engulfed them.

The Clan was slow to rise that morning. It was Droog's turn to stand sentinel, as a man did every day, watching for attack. For all the time passed Broud's vigilance had not diminished and it never would, even though the threat seemed very far away on the silent, snowy day. They had fresh bison and beaver meat from the day before, and the women were quick to get food cooking over their hearth fires. A delicious smell filled the cave, to the envy of all four-legged predators in the region. There was acorn flatbread as well, and at Broud's hearth the family dipped it into their thick stew and warmed their bellies against the unexpected cold snap. Brac was eating again, even walking a bit, and he was a reluctant hero to Grev and Durc even though he had failed in his hunt. That he had been thrown by a massive aurochs and survived was enough to impress the younger boys, and to Brac's despair they questioned him again and again on the battle, begging him to tale the tale once more. Brac wished more than anything for solitude, but it was impossible. And so when Droog came running back to the cave, breathless, it was relief at the interruption and not fear that the damaged youth felt.

"Broud!" Droog gasped, appearing at the hearthstones.

The leader was immediately up, and ready for anything. "Who have you seen?"

"I think it is Varn and his people!" Droog gestured. "Varn and his people, fighting their way through the snow."

"You are sure?" Broud demanded.

"I am," Droog said, knowing that the wellbeing of the Clan depended on his confidence.

"Then we must prepare. They will be cold, and hungry. Kyani, see that there is enough bread and stew for our guests, and make tea. Uba, get out our extra bowls, and Ebra-" Broud turned to his mother, noticing again how old she suddenly looked. The fire was freezing to ice in her hair, and her skin seemed to be thinning and wrinkling more with each passing day. "Ebra, rest a little longer, with the babies Vorn and Oga," Broud said, sighing.

"I will get more furs, and make a new hearth," Uba offered.

"Do it, then."

Varn and his companions-six hunters of varied ages and the two young girls, along with an older female who traveled with them-made their slow way up into the cave. One of the men had a severe case of frostbite on his left hand, and Uba quickly prepared a poultice, thinking that one or more of the fingers would have to go. But in general, the group was happy for the warmth of Broud's cave.

Kyani went to the boys. Durc was still asleep, but Brac was up, staring down into his lap as he twisted the ties of his foot coverings. "Brac, come and sit with us. There is a very special visitor here who I'm sure is eager to meet you. Her name is Asha, and she's come a very long way to join our hearth."

Brac cringed slightly, but Kyani did not note it the way Uba or Broud would have. Reluctantly obedient, he used Kyani's proffered hand to stand, and he took his walking stick and made his slow way to Broud's side, humiliated at the stick and his limp and what it implied.

"Durc," Kyani whispered, touching the boy softly. The boy woke up, blinking his sleep away. He smiled to see Kyani, a gesture that thus far only the two of them shared. "Durc, someone is here to meet you."

The boy sat up immediately, peering with curious eyes across the fire. So far, he saw only a cluster of strange men, but there were two young girls in their midst, standing shyly beside a stout middle-aged matron. "My mate?" he asked.

Kyani nodded, grinning. "Ura. She's finally come."

Durc hopped up, and as he did the group of men shifted and pulled apart, and there in their center was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Ura had a sweet, delicate face: big brown eyes, slightly down-turned and deep set, full of exotic mystery; a straight little nose that turned slightly up at the end; high strong cheekbones; and a small heart-shaped mouth, all framed by shiny brown ringlets that were curling up tight as they dried near the fire. She was more slender than other Clan girls, and very shy, having lived her whole life thus far with a broken-spirited mother and the woman's mate, who hated Ura and told her she was worthless and ugly at every opportunity he could find. Varn was more than happy to get the girl away, and it seemed she would find more joy in Broud's Clan. At least the boy planned for her could not judge her for her peculiar appearance! Durc shot a clever gaze at Broud's mate and exclaimed as quietly as he could, "But she- She is different! She's like me, isn't she?"

Kyani nodded again, the smile still on her face. "It's fitting. And she's a very pretty little girl, isn't she?"

Durc took a deep breath; even in his childish mind he knew, somehow, that his destiny was before him in the form of the little girl Ura. He felt a fierce longing for his mother then, to share in his happiness. He looked away from Kyani, but said as he did, "Oh… she is beautiful!"

"Go to her, Durc," Kyani said, but the boy needed no motivation. He hurried to join Broud and Brac, biting his lips to keep the strange, unClan-like smile from his beaming face.

The children did not speak much to each other, though Durc was the most outgoing, surprising his father. He asked Ura what her mother's name was and what foods she liked best, and if she knew how to cook or make wraps. The shy girl was quite overwhelmed at this attention from a boy, but Broud was pleased, and he thought that the match of Durc and Ura was a promising one. He was glad he had been too occupied to forbid it years before at the Clan Gathering. Asha, too, was a delight, the perfect manifestation of a Clan woman with impeccable, demure behavior and dark good looks. She was the fourth child of a fertile mother. Broud was even happier to find out that Asha had become a woman shortly before her departure for his cave, and she seemed to be quite shapely under her clumsily worked wrap. The only sour spot for Broud was Brac's utter reluctance to recognize the attractive girl. He should have some interest in the young woman who would be his mate, especially after Broud had caught his growing curiosity towards Ura; but there was none. Brac treated the girl as if she was a non-entity, completely beneath his notice. If he had taken to bossing Asha around Broud would have been pleased, but Brac spent much of the first meeting staring at his feet. Something's wrong with the boy, Broud thought, but he had no understanding of what it was. If Broud had been tossed by an aurochs at any age he would have spent his convalescence sharpening his spears and pining away for the day he could get back into the field and prove his courage. He could not imagine that they boy was shaken to the core of his being at the merciless approach of manhood, now manifested in Asha's dark docile gaze.

Broud was a good host. He was proud of his hearth and proud of the resilience of his Clan, which had added three new members since the earthquake and the attack. The snow clung around his cave but melted down the slopes and on the steppe, and he was happy for Varn and his men to join in a bison hunt, excluding the hunter whom Uba had to amputate fingers from. The women gathered the last of the autumn's bounty and prepared great feasts, and Broud hosted hunt dances and storytelling at night, which he knew he excelled at. Later still the men took part in their sacred ceremonies.

But if Varn's men lingered much longer, they would put a strain on the Clan. That, and they had many days' journey ahead of them and true winter was bearing down quickly. Varn came to stand behind Broud one morning as the leader stood gazing out from the promontory. Broud, sensing that the time had come, put his hand on the other leader's shoulder. "You've brought me two good girls, Varn. I am pleased."

"I hope they will bring much joy and comfort to the boys of your hearth. It's a shame Brac was injured on his first hunt. The aurochs is an unpredictable beast. The boy is truly lucky to be alive. He must be very strong."

"He is strong," Broud said firmly, as if it could be no other way. "And he will get his chance to make a kill again soon, though I doubt it will be until after the winter. Still, we will care for Asha until he can take her to his own hearth."

Varn nodded, content that he was leaving the girls in good hands. He let a moment of satisfied silence pass, and then he said, "Broud, the last time we came you spoke of taking certain preparations against the Others. You said you would show me what you've created here to protect your people."

"I did," Broud said. "We've developed quite a system to deal with invaders. I will show you, if you still wish it."

"It is well to prepare, Broud, and I am deeply grateful for your leadership in this strange matter. There is no doubt that more of these people are flooding our lands, and they are an angry, aggressive people. But…" Varn hesitated, scratching his shaggy head. "Do you have some… er… particular reason to believe this system will be necessary soon?"

Broud shifted his weight uncomfortably. "My mog-ur has seen it," he said. "And… I am sure you noted the appearance of my first mate."

"She is one of them," Varn said, glad that the subject was broached finally. "But you did not have her at the Clan Gathering. She was not raised by your Clan."

"She was raised by them," Broud confirmed. "But she is fully Clan now. Yet… Well, after we were attacked, I chased them with some of my other hunters. We gave them a good fight, but all spare me were killed. I was injured. The woman found me and tended my wound, and her people discovered us. In their anger they ran her off, but we were followed. We were followed across the steppe, Varn."

The other man furrowed his heavy brows. "They know where you are."

"Generally, yes," Broud said. "I never saw them, but I felt their presence. For some reason they've not attacked us yet, but I am sure they will. And for every day that passes in peace, I wonder what evil is being worked against me."

Varn sighed heavily. He had suspected something like this; he had suspected that the beautiful young woman had much to do with the present danger Broud's Clan was in. He thought Broud might have captured the girl, but perhaps it was even worse that she had turned on her own men and gone willingly with Broud. "They will want her back, Broud. Or they will want revenge for her loss. I fear you are right. With each passing day, they likely grow stronger. I'm sure you noticed the size of my travelling party."

"These are dangerous times," Broud said.

"Yes. But I owe you a debt. The courage and…" Varn frowned. He could not think of the word, but he meant to say, initiative. "The leadership you shared with me, on this matter, in the ceremony, was as water to a thirsting man. A nearby Clan was wiped out by a band of these chalk-faces. I was in despair for all our people, but now I see a way. You have only three strong arms besides your own here. I've brought along two of my strongest hunters, Tag and Kirn. I would like to leave them with you, to help you when your enemies come against you."

"Surely you need your men, Varn," Broud said, even as his heart leaped at this unexpected gift. "I would not weaken your Clan, or put you at risk as you journey home."

"We'll be all right, Broud," Varn said gruffly, as if he were offended that Broud assumed he had not thought this out long and hard. "You are the one who is in the greatest peril, I fear. And you, Broud, are the only one who can lead us in these strange times. You are the leader of the first Clan, Broud. You are the leader of us all now. If you fall, darkness will come over this land. Two men are the least I can give to your struggle. I am ashamed that I can offer you no more."

Varn, like all Clan men, was uncomfortable with such long, emotional speeches. "I have spoken," he said, and then the northern leader turned on his heel and returned to the cave, leaving Broud alone to stand against the wind whipping his mountain.

* * *

><p>Kyani shifted Oga in her sling and sorted through the collection of shells, quills, and bits of bone she had amassed in the year she had been with the Clan.<p>

"What will you do with these?" Ona asked, scooping up some of the hollow quills in her hands.

"You will see," Kyani said. She looked up to see Uba bringing over the collection of furs and hides that she had amassed from Broud's successful hunts. "Set them there, Uba," she instructed. She no longer smiled at the Clan women. It had taken a while, but she had taken her cues from Broud and used all her will to inject her emotion into her eyes, and it made the other women more comfortable around her. Now Kyani produced a leather satchel and pulled out the finished product of a project she had worked on at night, in secret, as Oga nursed. The women narrowed their eyes at the belt Kyani had made, woven in a chevron pattern from strips of wicker dyed yellow and black. Kyani longed for red, but that color was sacred, and for blues and purples, but she had found none of the necessary mollusks on their fishing trips to the sea coast. Another woven product was a black cord accented with shining mother of pearl shells, the holes delicately punched in either side. She passed the black cord to Ona, the most slender of the women though she was in her first trimester of pregnancy. "Here, tie this about your waist, to gather your wrap tighter under your chest."

Delighted, Ona stood and awkwardly tried out the belt. The Clan tied a cord around their wrap, which served to pull the excess up into functional pockets, but function did not extend to form. Ona wrapped the long cord around her plain hide several times, quickly figuring out how to accent her slim waist.

"What's the point of this?" Uka asked irritably.

"To be pretty," the leader's mate said lightly. She pulled one of her hides close, a soft pale doeskin that Broud had given her after Oga was born. It reminded him of the dress she had worn when they first met. She had already worked the hide into the basic form of a well-fitting dress, and now she held it aloft. "To express yourself, as a woman." It pleases the Mother, she added silently, to love the unique gifts that she gives us.

Uka grunted, not seeing the point. "A good warm wrap has always been good enough for us, hasn't it Ika?"

But Ika was treasonously arranging several carved bone beads in a clever pattern. "Oh, I don't know, Uka," she gestured vaguely. "What would you do with these, Ki-ani?

"Well," Kyani said, "I would use a thin sinew and thread them around the neck or the sleeves in a pattern, or I would fringe the bottom of a dress and bead the fringes, or… anything I could think of!"

The women had a range of reactions to this. Uka grudgingly nodded in understanding, and the younger women expressed delight at the idea of altering their plain wraps in such a way. They had long been curious about the subtle alterations Kyani had performed on her Clan-style wraps, and the way she had used the rich pelts Broud always brought her to adorn the sleeves or collars, and the fine fur cloaks she made. She had been warming the women, slowly, to the images she had in her mind of the fancy dresses she longed to wear again. Now, as the winter closed in around them, Kyani decided it was time to begin her craft.

"What else can you make?" Ovra asked.

Kyani puzzled over the words. Clan women didn't wear much in the way of adornment, saving their amulets or the paint the medicine woman wore during special ceremonies. She tried to explain the idea of necklaces and bracelets and even anklets for the summer months. As she did Oga came awake and began to fuss, and Kyani set the six month old baby down beside the year old baby Vorn, sliding her pile of beads and shells and quills out of the child's grasp. Oga was a quick jolly baby who had a deep curiosity about the people and objects around her. The baby had a fast and humorous crawl already, and was trying to pull herself up to walk far sooner than Kyani knew any baby to have ever done. Oga had driven Uba crazy trying to get at her little pouches of herbs and snatching for her otter-skin medicine bag. Kyani, though vigilant that the child did not ingest something harmful, felt a surge of hope at this, a selfish hope which grew stronger as the moons and seasons cycled and still Uba did not conceive. Still, the young woman was reluctant to broach the subject of making Oga the medicine woman's acolyte. Uba seemed happy enough, but Kyani thought that the medicine woman held her secret longing for more children very close to her heart. She did not want to offend or hurt Broud's second woman, who she had grown to love very much.

The women watched in uncertain wonder as Kyani took her small flint knife and began to slash out fringing for her new doeskin dress. Once she was done, she lay several different furs over the pale, creamy hide. Red fox fur, silky black rabbit fur, and the deep brown sable of a mink seemed best to her but she could not decide. With a bit of mischievous delight she looked to Uka. "Which one?"

"Which one what?" Uka gestured, uncertain what the leader's flashy mate meant now.

"Which fur, to line the collar and the sleeves? This will be a winter dress."

Uka, reluctantly flattered now, shuffled a little closer. She tentatively stuck a finger out and ran it over the glossy pelts. "The mink," she decided, sitting back and puffing her chest a little in pride.

"The mink, then," Kyani said, setting the others to the side. "And there are several pelts, and another doeskin. I will use the rest to make doeskin boots lined with fur, to match."

"And decorated with these shiny dark quills," Ona suggested quickly, pouring them hand to hand and enjoying the sound, like fine rain beating on dried leaves.

"And decorated with the quills," Kyani agreed, returning to her work.

Soon enough, the younger women shyly asked Kyani to help them adorn their own wraps, and then to teach them how to make closer fitting dresses like the ones she herself now wore. As the winter wore on the women of the Clan bubbled, then exploded, with a frenzy of individualism and cleverly worked clothes. Even the men appreciated how Kyani could take them out of simple mammoth hide foot coverings, plainly laced with cord, and put them into warmer, snugger boots cut to match their feet and calves.

Broud surveyed all of this with grudging wonder. He had not seen much of this transformation, and it caught him by surprise. Even though the snow was high, he was busy training the two newcomers in the tactics and signals he had invented, and in repairing and improving his pit traps and fortifications. As with the winter before, Broud wanted to be prepared for the warmer weather that brought hunters of all quarries out from their ice-locked caves. He had tried to bring Brac with him to oversee some of the work. After all, the boy would be leader after him, and he would need to know how to deal with Others just as much as Varn and the other leaders did. But Brac's leg always seemed to be bothering him when Broud asked, and so he never wanted to risk further injury in the ice and snow.

"What have you done to my people?" Broud asked Kyani gruffly one night, as he climbed into his soft furs beside her.

"I just shared a little of what I like," she said innocently, hoping he was not unpleased. She thought the women looked very lovely in their new boots and closer fitting wraps, some lined with pretty furs and smooth bone beads that they learned to carve themselves. "There's little to do in the winter, once the work is done."

But Broud hardly heard her answer, hardly cared, as he ran his fingers teasingly down the deep curve of her spine. "Share a little more," he told her quietly, and then he crawled over her silky back and banished the cold.

* * *

><p>The lanky blonde boy raced up the snow covered path from the fa-lodge, his legs pumping hard through the high drifts. His lungs were bursting from the effort and the icy blasts of wind against him but he kept on, until he reached the collection of stone shelters with their little puffs of hearth-smoke billowing brown against the white sky. He thrust the heavy mammoth hide cover aside and skidded into the serene blonde woman's presence, collapsing at her feet and panting for his breath.<p>

The woman turned aside from another woman, a young maiden newly mated who had come for help to conceive a badly wanted child. She frowned to see the fear in the youth's clear blue eyes. "What is it, my son? What has happened?" She feared that someone had been injured or worse. The older children had taken to sneaking onto the ice-locked river lately, even though the elders warned them that the river rushed fast beneath the deceitful calm of the ice, and the ice often thinned unpredictably.

"Men!" He burst, sucking his breath. "There are strange men staying in some of the fa-lodges, many strange and unsavory looking men, and they are riling people up to go and kill Flatheads to the east!"

The woman frowned. She disliked the evil expression referencing the Old Ones who long lived in this land and were as much a part of the Mother as she or her son, or any of the others. Even more troubling was the thought of those she had accepted as guests in the Mother's name inciting her people to senseless violence.

"Where is this?"

"Down by the birch forest," the boy reported diligently. "They plan to winter here and leave when the weather breaks, and they want to take five of our men with them."

"Foolishness," the woman declared, rising from her fur adorned seat. Her impressive dress of indigo fell to her thickening ankles, and the sacred cowrie shells imported from far to the south and stitched to her gown rattled as she strode across her shelter and snatched up a cloak of royal winter ermine. "Wicked foolishness."

She turned to the woman who had come to seek her help. "I'll not be long, daughter. Rest here by my fire and take your comfort. I will give you what you desire when I return."

The woman-both the leader and the highest holy woman of her people-would put a quick end to the wicked work of the interlopers. She knew of their presence among the men, and she had tolerated it in observance of the custom which extended shelter to travelers. But that custom did not extend to men who only came to foment evil and violence. She would forbid her own people from taking part in such folly, and inform the travelers that once the weather was fair enough they would have to move on. There was a woman and a yearling child in their company, a woman with clouded guilty eyes, and the holy woman would not send such into the frozen wilderness no matter what. The babe, at least, was an innocent.

Though growing thick now in her middle age, she was strong and she cut a path through the snow with bold, determined steps. The fa-lodges were on the outskirts of the settlement, places where single men or men seeking solitude, or the company of other men, would retreat to from time to time. Often they would pass their time making weapons or meditating, or resting from hard hunts or overbearing mates and loud children. But lately a new trouble had come from the far west, a fermented drink brought by a man of the Zelandonii that slurred the senses and even overpowered and addicted the constitutionally weak. Several of the fa-lodges had been reduced to nothing more than gathering places for barma drinkers, and uncouth behavior and fighting were reported with alarming frequency.

"Where?" she asked curtly, and the youth pointed his slim elegant finger towards a cluster of lodges interspersed with slender pale birches slick and silver and shiny under a thick coating of ice. The woman set forth, but as she did, the screeching cry of an owl pierced the wintery calm. The holy woman felt a tingling in her spine, and she hesitated for a brief moment. The owl should not be awake now, crying out in the pale cold light of day. The woman frowned, torn between her own sudden fear and her duty to her people. Experiencing a hesitation and doubt that she had not felt since her initiation as a young maiden, she turned to her son and asked, "And did our men hear these travelers?"

The boy, tall and handsome with the silvery beauty of the first rush of his true manhood, nodded gravely. "They wanted to go. The barma drinkers, mostly. The travelers made promises of a woman of our kind among the Flat- among the Old Ones, a very young woman of exquisite and unearthly beauty." The boy flushed from the base of his throat to the tips of his cold ears. "A woman they said was… was deserving of ravishing."

The holy woman made the sign of Mut against such black evil, and barreled forth with new purpose. Without so much as a warning call she thrust aside the covering of the largest lodge and barreled her way inside, planting her hands on her hips and appraising the scene.

There were near a score of men packed in the dark, smoky confines of the lodge. Many were sitting, drinking, well into drunkenness. Several stood in the center behind the man who seemed to be their leader, the man called Drakav. Drakav had a water-sack of barma in his hand and he drank as he gave his speech, and now, with the interruption, he whirled to face the holy woman. In the background the cloudy-eyed woman stood in silence, her child playing in the dirt on the floor unattended.

"Mother," Drakav said, though there was an irreverent slur to his words even as he made a slight bow and a flourishing gesture of respect with his hand. Drakav's sharp eyes flickered to the tall boy, and he did not bother to offer a greeting to this one, who had up and ran when he began his speech.

The holy woman wasted no time. "Drakav, you and your company have been made welcome here, as the customs demand. But I am told now that your visit is not once of trade or hardship or even curiosity, but for the single purpose of sucking my men into an evil campaign."

Drakav, whose hatred grew with each morning sun and evening moon, reacted with deliberate shock and surprise. "Evil!" he cried, looking about the audience of men. "There is no evil in my intentions, Mother! I seek honest compensation for the wrongs inflicted upon me and my people!"

"That well may be," the holy woman declared, the hard anger rich in her clear, strong voice, "but we have been dealt no injury by the Old Ones, and we have no cause to do harm to them. I have come-"

"No injury!" another man spat, coming forward. The holy woman immediately disliked the appearance of this man. He was dirty and squint-eyed, with a fell energy surrounding him. "Your own people tell me that one of your women was captured and raped by these beasts! Yes, raped and raped again, and she bore a hybrid creature so foul she shuddered to bring it to breast! Would you, wise woman-" he laughed now, at this, "allow such injuries to go unavenged?"

The holy woman narrowed her powerful gaze on this man, who was weak in soul no matter how mighty in stature he was. "Vengeance is a slippery game, my child. One never knows what scores will be settled, once all the players are set in motion!" She could see the end of this man as clearly as if it happened before her, she could see his lifeblood rushing in a half-frozen stream.

"We want to go with Drakav!" a young man of her band called, drunken beyond memory of the respect the holy woman was due.

"I forbid it," she said coldly. "And I have come to tell you, Drakav, that for the sake of the woman and child you may stay until the weather first breaks, but no longer. You have trampled upon the courtesy of custom, and we want none of your hate talk here!"

There was uproar among the seated men, and some rose to their feet, and for the first time, the slender silvery youth felt a jolt of terror. The atmosphere was chaotic in the lodge. The drunken men had been roused to hatred and violence by Drakav's speech, and to lust as well by his talk of the delectable young woman they could share as violently as they dreamed in their drunkenness as their prize for killing a few men and women who were little more than beasts anyway.

"We want him here! You don't speak for us, woman!" a man cried from the back, but others more sober argued against his disrespect, and soon there was shoving. Drakav watched on carefully, the fire reflecting in his hot pale eyes.

"Look what you have done!" the holy woman spat coldly. "I should banish you now! Leave this lodge, and let these ignorant fools regain their heads!" Even as she stood on her authority and commanded the guests, she felt herself jostled by the commotion in the crowd. Furious now, she raised her hands and cried, "You will go now, or I shall curse you and your wicked ventures, by wind and earth and fire-"

Her potent curse cut off in a gasp, and then a groan, as the ten inch blade pushed into her stomach. Drugan, his lips sneering and his eyes wide and crazed, twisted the blade once, twice, a third time, before drawing it up through her abdomen and shoving the woman off his blade and down to the ground. The holy woman crumpled, her divine power whispering away on the wind. For a moment there was shocked silence, and then the silvery youth screamed and threw himself at Drugan. His fate was quickly met, a slash across the throat. There were cries of alarm and outrage and self-righteous delight, and soon the lodge was a tomb of death as men hit and kicked and fought.

"Let's go, let's go!" Drakav cried. Kieran, heretofore frozen in horror, lifted the baby from the ground and dragged his mate out into the blistering cold. Drakav and his seven men, joined by two of the most ignoble souls in the holy woman's band, ran for their lives into the distance. Those who would avenge their spiritual and temporal leader were too drunk to follow, and they fell to their knees in horror at what had happened.

"He killed a holy woman!" Kieran sputtered, once they were clear of the birch forest.

"It's no matter," Drakav hissed. "She would have cursed us."

"Foul witch!" Drugan snapped, coming to join the two men. "Try to curse me!"

"But what will we do now?" Kieran demanded, aghast. "It is winter! We've no shelters of our own! It is many days between this place and the next settlement, and who knows how soon word will spread of this-" Frightened, Kieran cut his word back. He would have said crime, blasphemy, outrage. Instead, he bowed his head in shame and said, "This fight."

"We will go back!"

The men turned at once, as Ilona slinked her way through the snow.

"Ilona… We'll surely be killed if we return to that village," Kieran said, shaking his head at the folly of his mate.

"I don't mean go back to the fa-lodges!" Ilona spat, scorning the mate she had judged as weak. "I mean we go back, to the steppes, to the mountains where these beasts make their home." She turned to Drakav, meeting his sharp gaze. "We go back, it won't take much more than a moon, and we attack before the first melt comes. They will not expect us! They will be huddled in their cave like hibernating beasts, and you will fall on them, and take them unaware."

The men gathered round offered a rumble of declarations. Some thought it foolish to travel so far in the snow. Others thought it was the perfect plan. After all, they had hides and furs, they had an arsenal of weapons, they could survive.

Ilona met Drakav's shocked stare, her eyes burning. And then, the leader of their group slowly began to nod his head. Drakav turned to the nine other men and declared. "All right! We go back! We know how to fell trees and make tents and fires! We've nothing to fear from the cold, and we've nothing to fear from the Flatheads! The time has come, my brothers. Let us move on the mountains, and take our revenge!"


	9. Chapter 9

Broud woke up with a start.

He lay in silence for a moment, just listening. Kyani was asleep in his arms, her long hair spilled like a dark screen over his broad chest. Baby Oga was nestled beside Kyani. The fire had burned down to a dull glow. Nearby Uba and Vorn slept soundly, and further off were the separate furs of Brac and Durc, and Ebra and Asha. A cold wind blew in from outside, which felt wonderful to those wrapped in warm furs beside hot fires. There was nothing but the peaceful sound of the Clan at their rest, a sound that usually comforted the leader.

But Broud felt no peace. He felt himself transported back to the steppes, before he had loved Kyani as a man to a woman, when the pain in his thigh was an agony and the fear was thick on his tongue. He remembered waking up in the night, sure that something was out there, coming for him. For the first time in a long while, his thigh ached. He tried to banish his thoughts by stroking the smooth slim back of his mate, and she stirred softly, her full lips curving up into a small sleeping version of the smile he rarely saw anymore. She snuggled unconsciously against his body, ready to come awake in a moment if he pressed his suit. It was difficult to resist the young woman he loved and lusted for, and most of the time he couldn't. Yet tonight, his mind was not in her lovemaking.

Broud ever so carefully disengaged from his mate, setting her down into the soft furs, where she moaned a little and hugged her baby close for warmth. He sat up fully beside them, and looked across the cave. It was then that he saw the mog-ur, also up, eyes narrowed, staring at the opening of the cave. Their eyes met for a moment. Goov was disturbed, clearly. Broud stood, and made his way quietly to the mog-ur's hearth. Ovra slept beside young Ura, and pregnant Ona huddled in Goov's fur, and both of the women and the child were lost in their dreams, and were not the cause of the mog-ur's restlessness.

"They are coming," Goov gestured in complete silence.

Broud sucked his breath, his heart's pounding growing harder. "Now? Tonight?"

"Ursus woke me," Goov said. "I saw the skull-faces, creeping through the snow on the steppe, and then I saw Ursus coming out of his cave and standing tall. I woke then, and I've felt the most awful feeling of unease since. They are coming, Broud. I think… I think they are here already."

Broud drew another deep, sharp breath. It would be now then. In the dark of night, in the dead of winter, at the time he would least expect it. Well, why not, he thought. If Broud had learned anything, it was that the absurd was more likely than the ideal, the incredible more possible than the ordinary. At least it was this way in his life, his leadership. "Wake Grod," Broud said quickly. "I will wake Droog, and the two men of Varn's Clan." Broud frowned and added, "And I will need your spear, Goov; mog-ur or not."

The men assembled on the promontory under a silvery waxing moon. They could not see into the forest, or to the steppe beyond. They did not know when the attack would come, or how close the Others were, how many there were, or even if mog-ur was wrong in his vision. Broud had woken old Zoug but not the women. If the returned to the cave with the morning sun, the women need never know about it. And if they did not return, the old man would wake the women and bring them to the back of the cave, before the narrow tunnel that led to the sacred chamber.

Broud told Goov, "Bless us."

"Bless you… How? As if we were preparing for a hunt?"

"As if we were going off to die, Goov," Broud said softly. "As if we were going to the spirit world."

* * *

><p>Under the cover of darkness, Drakav directed his nine men to split apart. He had learned during his reconnaissance that there were but two ways up to the cave on the mountain where the firelight flashed, stupidly giving the animals' hideout away. Under the pale moon, they divided into two groups. Kieran would lead four other men, and Ilona with her child, up the long way, on an easterly track up over the rising slopes. Ilona had her own instructions, which would serve to capture at least the foul woman, if not the mate. Drakav, Drugan, Daren and two others would approach straight on, between the cliffs and into the valley, climbing the path that cut to the side of the sheer wall of the mountain. He thought that he would easily outnumber the men of the Demon People. The plan was to overcome any resistance, and then take the women and children. There were to be no survivors, not even the least babe in arms. And Drakav had a special punishment in mind for Kyani. She would not leave this mountain alive either, but her death would be slow. She would pay for trading on her race, for mating with the animals who had burnt the People alive. Yes, she would pay, Drakav thought, a chilling smile crossing his pale, chalk smeared face.<p>

* * *

><p>Goov, Grod, and Tag moved in silence to the grove of pines just before the place where the shallow mountain stream widened and crossed the western trail. "You all understand," Goov motioned. "There is to be no warning, no sound, no questions. Whoever comes up this trail must die. We are the only thing standing between these monsters and the women, children, and the old man who wait in the cave behind us." Goov looked carefully into the eyes of each man, to be sure that they had no doubts in their minds. None of them had ever killed another man before; they had never even thought to before Broud brought them into this fight. But Grod had seen first-hand the work of the Others. And Tag was a hunter of the finest caliber, a man who could be counted on to hamstring a mammoth or even leap onto the back of a running bison. He had been specially chosen by Varn and blessed by the mog-ur of his cave to go on this mission, and he was ready to execute it to the best of his potential. The men exchanged a long glance, and then, under Goov's instruction, they bowed their heads and sent a last prayer to Ursus and to their individual totems. And then they fell apart, their faces and bodies painted in black, and they slipped into the shadows of the pines.<p>

* * *

><p>Kieran led his men up the rocky trail, along with Ilona who carried her frightened child, smacked repeatedly by the mother into a terrified silence. The first rays of the sun were hidden by the mountains, but the darkness paled around them with each soft step they took. The warriors behind them were hardened against fear and eager for action, but with each step Kieran's heart was less and less in the fight. He grimaced angrily and pushed on. He did not want to answer to Drakav for failure, but he had sacrificed too much already. He had never wanted to leave his people in the first place, and not a night went by when he didn't think that if he had been there, he could have helped when the fire came. He had not agreed with the men Drakav had chosen for this venture. They were worse than coarse and unkempt; in their speech and deed and thought they violated the Mother, and Kieran, if he had not been such a coward, would have told Drakav that he would be ashamed to die beside such men. And then, when the high priestess had been killed, Kieran had felt the world rock beneath him, as if a fiery chasm were splitting open beneath his feet. Last of all, he had watched his own mate be corrupted day by day with Drakav's bottomless hate. He had watched her beat his child into silence, his poor little girl who could barely speak even though she was over a year old, and he had felt sick to his soul. But still, he said nothing, he did nothing to defy his leader. Now, as he crept up the rocky trail, crossing through a wide clearing with a gorgeous view of the deep dark sea to the south, he cursed himself for a traitor to his very self. He stopped for a moment, gazing out on the endless black water, broken only by pale foamy crests pushing along the surface. The abyssal darkness was nothing more than a reflection of the depths he had fallen to in Drakav's service.<p>

"Too tired, eh?" one of his men snorted. When Kieran didn't respond the man gave a little laugh and snatched the point position for himself, bursting with great speed and vigor across the flat crest of the first hillock and then bounding smartly down the slope.

And then, it was as Kieran's vision of the earth opening came to life. Before their eyes the soil gave out and swallowed the lead man, and he fell, and then his cry of surprise turned into a blood-chilling scream of shock and agony. The men rushed forward and down the hill, where they skidded to a stop and peered down upon a horrific sight.

"Help me!" the warrior gasped, blood gurgling over his lips. He flailed about terribly, but his every motion caused him to slip further down the sharpened sticks impaling him. One was in his gut and the other through his thigh, and all around him was a forest of sharpened stakes sunken into earth with cruel precision. As the men and the one woman-and her dumbstruck, silently sobbing child-watched on, the warrior's strength ebbed and then vanished, and he screamed no more.

"Come on, then!" the gruff man beside Kieran snarled. "They know we're here now, make ready! Move on!"

"Ilona," Kieran said softly, recalling for a moment the woman his mate used to be. He did not recognize the creature before him, who was prepared to work such evil against her former friend. "It's best you go off your own way now, off trail. They're obviously prepared for us. They'll be coming soon. You remember what Drakav told you to do?"

Ilona's senses were heightened by the scent of fresh blood. Her blood raced and flushed her pale cheeks, and she nodded in her excitement. "Go into the woods. Count the peaks. Count my paces, and then wait until… Until the time is right."

Kieran closed his eyes. He invisioned Kyani at the ceremony celebrating her passage into womanhood, so fresh in her cream and indigo dress and leggings. He thought of her tending to her ailing, grouchy father, never complaining, always smiling, always with a kind word for anyone she saw. And then Kieran quivered, and looked at his mate holding their child, and he told her to go to her terrible business; and he knew himself to be dead already, beyond any redemption the Great Mother could offer .

* * *

><p>Broud squatted a ways back from the trail leading around the low cliff overlooking the valley. Knowing his men to be in position, he watched the five small figures creep along the stream-side trail. In the distance he could hear the soft but eternal thunder of the straight falls pouring into the pond, and the warbling music of the cascading falls leading from the pond into the stream beyond. He could feel the wind turning moments before it blew his thick waves away from his face. He felt the delicious icy clarity pouring over him, the clarity of the coming kill that he alone of all others felt. He watched the five fell figures creeping forward, his eyes automatically sizing them up, cataloguing their traits and weaknesses as if they were so many tiny bison creeping through his valley. And then, like a roar of true thunder, a great crash echoed off the cliffs and up the mountain, and Broud peered forward eagerly.<p>

He hissed through his teeth and sneered his lips. The great cloud of dust diffused and five men came out, whole and unharmed though shaken, now pressed close together, closing their ranks, their eyes on the cliffs above waiting for the next strike. Broud slunk back deeper under the cover of the evergreens, knowing that Kirn would be seen running across the low cliff trail. They would be coming soon.

* * *

><p>"Stay quiet, stay calm," Zoug counseled the frightened women. He had heard the great crash of the boulders, a sure a sign as any that Broud's deep fears had finally been proven true. For the first time, Zoug was grateful for his leader's strange temperament and odd abilities. Zoug even regretted the age and infirmity that kept him from the coming fight. But he had a job to do. He was to protect the women and children with his life, and he had been instructed to give his own call if they came under attack. Great Ursus, would these Others truly enter their cave to kill women and children? Zoug could hardly believe that any human could be so cruel, so wicked. Zoug paced the cave slowly, anxiously caressing the leather sling which had always served him so well. If Ursus willed it, the weapon he had long ago mastered might give those chalk-faces something to think about!<p>

Zoug nearly tripped over Uka, huddled and shaking at his feet. He tapped her shoulder quickly, and she looked up with wide eyes. He could recall the child she was so many years before. She asked with silent gestures, "They won't get past Broud, will they? Broud will protect us, won't he, Zoug?"

Zoug looked about the cave, at the frightened faces of the women, peering up from the hearths they so lovingly tended. At last he met the violet eyes of Broud's mate. The young woman, who looked no more than a girl to Zoug's ancient stare, held her red haired baby tight to her chest. The other women were frightened, but there was a glaze of agony and unspeakable terror over Kyani's pale face. She more than anyone knows what we are facing, Zoug thought. She knows the men coming against us. She knows they won't hesitate to kill her, the other women, or even the little babies. Zoug looked back down to Uka, but he spoke to all of them.

"Don't worry, woman," Zoug said with dismissive gestures and gruff words. "They won't get past Broud."

But in his heart, he simply did not know.

* * *

><p>The approached cautiously, silently, spears in their throwers ready to be loosed or thrusted as needed. The trail suddenly reached a fork; it seemed that the older trail had been covered some time ago by fallen trees and boulders and other debris, and the debris field went on for some while, as if an avalanche had caused it. Another part of the trail, one that looked newer, turned deeper into the pine forest. The men cursed in silence, knowing that their vision and the range and effectiveness of their missiles would be greatly reduced in such confines. It almost seemed as if it were intentional. But the animals surely couldn't plan such a thing, could they? They moved on, trying to keep their steps from sinking into the icy layer of snow, even though a freezing rain the night before had left a thick coat of ice over the land.<p>

Then Drakav felt a chill running up the length of his spine. It was the feeling he felt when he was hunting and a four-legged predator was stalking on a rise just above him. A feeling of being watched. Drakav stopped for a moment, scanning the dark forest. He could see nothing but tall, snow-covered pines, he could hear nothing but a waterfall somewhere in the distance and the sound of melting ice. He raised his hand again in signal, and moved on.

Suddenly there was a squealing scream. The men spun to see the last in their company doubled over and clutching his waist. Blood rushed through the useless dam of his fingers. He had been slashed gut to groin, and he folded and crumpled into the snow, screaming, his blood pooling out around him, steaming as it hit the icy air. Frantic and furious the men looked wildly about, but all they saw was a dark shadow moving back into the blackness of the forest.

"They're demons!" the next to last man moaned, rushing up towards the middle of the group like a panicked deer.

"Shut your mouth," Drakav growled, but he was frightened now. Just then one of the animals burst out from cover and thrust a spear into another of his men, breaking his spine with the force. "Get him, get him! Fight, you women!" Drakav cried, tearing off after the man who was painted black and wearing dark furs as it bounded silently over the ice and snow. Drakav himself couldn't be sure if it was truly a man, an animal, or indeed a spirit. It had made no sound, not even a grunt as it thrust the spear into Sagan's hard backbone. Even the whites of the creature's eyes had seemed completely feral, horrific. But Drakav chased the creature down, even as it zigged and zagged through the trees, at last disappearing entirely. Drakav stopped, spinning about, spear in one hand and his knife in the other. His heart beat in his throat, furious, wild with fear at this unexpected attack. Now we're three, he thought. Now we're three. Cautiously, he backed up against the thick trunk of a tree, watching and listening. Cries came from the trail where the two men were left with the bodies of their companions. He could hear a clash of spears. Battle had been joined at last, but Drakav had other plans. The animals were smarter than he had anticipated, much smarter. Warily, he shouldered his spear and jogged deeper into the forest, heading up the mountain.

* * *

><p>Broud circled the man with fluid, deft steps. On the periphery of his senses Droog finally trapped his opponent against a tree and Kirn delivered the killing blow with his long flint knife. Broud's focus was soft, taking in everything from the chalk-face and his spear to the pines around them, shivering in the wind, to the tiny crunches of their light footsteps as they wheeled around each other on the ice.<p>

The chalk-face was big, and Broud could smell the stench of his unwashed body. His leering sneer showed rotten teeth. But he was quick and strong, and Broud caught the tiny shift of the chalk-face's shoulder a second before the spear was thrust. Broud smacked it easily away with the end of his own spear, and then he leveled his dark gaze on the man, shaking his head softly as if to tell the man what a fool he was. The chalk-face, furious, came on hard. He thrust and even swung with his spear, and Broud danced, blocking and ducking, letting his enemy waste his energy. At the first lull, Broud threw a light, quick thrust towards the man's throat. The chalk-face swung his spear up and easily blocked Broud's blow, but it was a feint. Quick as the wind, Broud thrusted again, this time at the man's soft belly. The spear sank deep, easily tearing through skin and fat and muscle and pushing out the other side. It was over. Dark eyes bulged in a lime-bleached face, and red blood gurgled then rushed from the man's lips and over his whitened chin.

Broud surveyed the scene quickly. Four bodies lay in various places on the trail, but there had been five. He narrowed his eyes, peering into the trees. He knew the one who had run. It was the same one who had run before, nearly two years ago. "He's out there somewhere," Broud gestured in silence.

Droog, panting slightly, said, "What can one man do?"

"There are more," Broud said. "Probably on the western trail. He'll be going to join them, best guess." The leader looked at his two warriors. "Good work, men. Now let's get up to that western trail and take care of whatever chalk-faces are left."

Broud and his men left their mountain and rushed westward.

* * *

><p>Up on the high trail, nearly a mile to the west of the cave, the fight was coming to a bloody close. The hit and run tactic of the Clan men, after the horror of the pit trap, had a demoralizing effect on the Kieran, but Daren and Drugan were hard men. They took down one of the demons and made short work of him with their cruel knives, and then, realizing that they were not demons but men who could bleed and die, the men of the Others fought their way up the hill. One of the demons was wounded and he slunk back into the forest and was not seen again. Kieran struck another black painted man in the head and he crumpled to the ground.<p>

Kieran didn't think the man was dead, just knocked unconscious. Kieran realized with the first bit of calm clarity he had felt in a year that he didn't want to kill. Drugan and Daren's knife work had brought bile up from Kieran's belly, reminding him of the priestess Drugan had murdered. Now the two were bounding upwards, keeping to the side of the trail and watching the ground for traps. They were anxious to reach the highest peak, anxious for the females they would take their sport with before killing them. There were no more demons swooping out of the forest to interrupt their race to the top. But in that moment, as Kieran stood on the rocky, icy slope, something in him snapped at last. In that second he had made a choice that would likely mean the end of his life; but at least, when the veil between the worlds burned away, he would be able to stand before the Mother and know himself to be a man. Carefully but quickly, he crept over the mountains behind the brothers Drugan and Daren.

* * *

><p>The last of the shouting had stopped, and Durc was eager to look down from the promontory. He was sure Broud had killed all the bad men. He looked over at Zoug, who was clutching his amulet and thinking in his slow, circular way, debating the virtue and danger at moving the women and children to the sacred chamber. He too had heard the last cry echoing over the mountains a long while ago, and he had not heard any whistle of warning. Zoug hoped fervently that the fight was over. He knew that the silence either meant that Broud had won, or all was lost. Zoug wanted to keep the women and children safe in case of the latter, and if they were in the sacred cave, they would not be seen. But they might anger the spirits, and this would bring a greater danger than any band of chalk-faced invaders.<p>

The other women were trying to be calm for the sake of the little ones, Groob and Vorn, Suki and Oga, Asha and Ura and Grev. They made tea and attempted quiet conversation, even as their ears strained for the sound of feet beating on the trail's end outside the cave. Durc moved quickly through the relative darkness, and out into the cold, pale light. But he wasn't unwatched. Little baby Vorn, who only understood that everyone was supposed to be very quiet, was bored and eager to play outside. He idolized Durc, his kind adopted brother, and as the medicine woman was bringing Uka a drink to soothe her nerves, Vorn got up and toddled after Durc.

Kyani looked up from her own sleepy baby just as Vorn disappeared towards the promontory. Quickly she got up and ran towards the little boy, snatching him in her arms. "Durc! Durc!" she hissed. The boy turned guiltily, flinching at the anger in Kyani's eyes. "Come back now!" the woman gestured. She bundled the two boys back inside, commanding them to sit on Uba's fur. But then she heard a strange sound, the call from a past life.

"Kyani!"

The young woman froze. She had not heard her name pronounced properly in nearly two years, and as the faint, weak call came again, recognition clicked and she heard the voice of Ilona, her cousin and close, dear friend. Kyani frowned. She looked behind her, to the cave, sure that she should return. But how ever had Ilona come to this place? For a wild moment, Kyani thought that maybe they weren't being attacked at all, but that her family had come to find her, to discover if she lived still. Maybe they had news of her father!

As the wind grabbed and whipped her long hair, Kyani shook her head. Her longing for her home, smothered and ignored all this long while, was now returning fiercely and leading her to foolish conclusions. Of course the Others had come to fight, to kill. But still, what was Ilona doing with them?

"Kyani, help me, please! I'm hurt!"

It was the one thing the girl could not resist. The same selflessness that had driven her to tend to Broud when she knew him only for an enemy, perhaps even a demon or a monster, now lured her away from the safety of her cave. Before anyone could call her back, Kyani clenched her fists to banish her fear and she rushed into the forest. She was a clever girl, but utterly guileless, a girl who rarely imagined deceit in others because she herself would never commit a betrayal. It would never occur to her that Ilona would try to trap her. For some reason, Kyani's cousin had been made to come along with the band of hunters, and she had been hurt on the mountain. Now Ilona was calling out in despair to the one woman among the Old Ones whom she knew would help her.

"Ilona?" Kyani called softly, her heart hammering in her chest. "Ilona, where are you? Say something, so I can follow your voice!"

"I'm here, Kyani, hurry! The baby is with me and I'm bleeding bad…" Ilona let her voice trail off to a whimper, a moan. She pinched her baby and the child began to cry, frightened and hurt.

Kyani ran forward. Soon she saw Ilona, but the tall blonde woman was not lying in the snow bleeding. She was standing strong and square, ignoring the baby hugging her leg. So consumed by her guilt and the evil she had succumbed to, she had forgotten all traces of friendship and knew only a bitter jealousy of the beautiful girl before her. A cold little smile played over her lips. "Stupid girl," Ilona hissed. "You always were a stupid girl."

"What-?" Kyani demanded, realizing horribly that she was betrayed, deceived. She whirled around in pure terror, and it was at that moment that Drakav seized her around her waist and pressed his ten inch knife to her throat.

"Now I've got you, dirty little minx!"

"Drakav! Drakav please… You sent me away, I left like you said…" Kyani's heart was hammering, her mouth had done impossibly dry. She was terrified. She could hardly speak for the sharp blade chafing her soft skin. He wouldn't kill her, he couldn't…

"You make me sick!" he hissed. "You will pay for what you did, for what your beast did to us!"

Bewildered, the girl tried to shake her head. "I don't know… I did nothing… He did nothing…" Panic set in, and she couldn't make sense of his words. They had done nothing! They had left Kantak's camp and made their own way, started their own life!

"Call him. Call out to your beast-mate!"

"No!" she whispered harshly, crying now. Drakav's arm was locked so hard around her tiny waist that Kyani could barely breathe. The knife was pressed painfully against her neck, and she was sure in a moment the obsidian blade would cross her throat and she would live no more. She thought of her little girl, of her dreams to make the child a medicine woman of powerful lineage and mixed spirits. Her mind flashed on Broud, his dark eyes glowing with love and strength and trust. She would not do it. She would not summon her beloved to his death.

"Don't play around with me, you filth! You are not one of us anymore, you're not even human anymore! I'll gut you as easily and carelessly as I would a deer. Call your mate! Call him now!"

"No," she breathed, closing her eyes, imagining her family as they had settled into their furs the night before, warm and happy.

Drakav didn't want her dead; not yet, anyway. "Last chance," he warned, hissing in her ear, aroused by the scent of her even though he could smell the beast on her skin as well. He imagined them together, Kyani on her knees like a sow as the demon worked and grunted behind her. As the rage he had summoned up with this image pumped into his blood, Drakav drew the blade across Kyani's soft neck and dragged it over her collarbone, and for all her protests and all her feigned nobility, the young woman's scream tore from her lips like he knew it would. He hadn't cut her too deep, or in the right place. He held her up-she was shaking now, sobbing, panicked and in pain-and he felt the warm trickle of her blood over his hand. He held her up when he felt her near fainting. He clutched her cruelly hard, and he waited.

* * *

><p>Footsteps, hammering up the last legs of the trail, then growing cautious and stopping entirely. Brac swallowed hard, praying that he would hear his father's voice. He was ashamed of himself for refusing to accompany Broud to inspect the pit traps and newly cut trails, and he was ashamed that he had been left behind with the women and babies when Broud had needed him to be a man. Brac loved Broud more than anyone in the world, and he had sat in stoic but anxious silence as the battles raged deep in the forest. Now he crept up to his own hearth, near the mouth of the cave, and he stood before the fire to be the first to greet Broud. At least he could show the mate of his mother that he was not a complete coward. Brac remembered the first attack only vaguely; like Grev, he had blocked it from his mind the way children will traumatic events. His biology and his memories were not crafted to expect a lethal threat from another human being. And to Brac, Broud was a god. Brac was certain that no one could defeat the mate of his mother in any contest of strength.<p>

And then he heard a strange, rough voice making a quick, rolling pattern of sounds. A keening horror and sadness rose from the women as they grabbed their children and pushed towards the back of the cave. "Brac, Brac!" Uba screamed, calling the boy. Zoug, snow haired, arthritic and slow, loaded his sling even as he stumbled forward to snatch the boy. But he was clumsier now; he had no business defending women and children or loading a sling. He tripped a little as he ran, and the stone fell to the ground.

Brac was frozen. Suddenly he didn't need to understand the threat, it was as real and terrible as the fear he felt at his manhood hunt. He felt himself unable to move. He felt his hands sweating, his chest tightening in panic. And then, like something out of the depth of a nightmare, a bleach-faced giant came out of the bright, icy cold, appearing in the mouth of the cave, eyes crazed, a huge bloody knife in his heavy fist.

The women screamed. Baby Oga began to sob, understanding the hatred and evil intentions radiating off the frightening looking intruder. The man stalked forward, invading their home. His small, feral eyes locked on Brac and the boy shuddered and stepped backwards in a horror, nearly falling over Broud's furs. In his thoughtless fear Brac backed himself to the wall of the cave, knocking over a neat stack of wooden and bone dishware. The man was laughing now, chanting horribly to himself in his babbling language. He tormented Brac with a feigned slash and the boy skidded sideways, feeling his way along the wall of the cave. He heard a clatter as he bumped into Broud's collection of spears, lined up neatly in a row.

"Come here, little cub! I've got a gift for you!" Drugan taunted, swinging viciously now, slicing fur from the boy's winter wrap. Brac cried out in horror, staring into the skeletal face, the dark, inhuman eyes.

In that terrible moment, as Drugan hovered over the terrified boy with plans to slice him to pieces, Brac lost all sense of himself. It was as if Ursus had shoved the boy's spirit aside, allowing something deeper and more eternal than the mortal soul of Broud's son to take over. Brac's fingers, formerly pressed in terror against the cold stone wall, suddenly sought and curled around one of his father's heavy spears. The part of Brac that was still there gave a wild cry of terror and anger as he spun the spear and then pushed it as hard as he could into the belly of the chalk-faced monster.

Drugan was stunned. He turned his face down and then looked back up again, amazed at the sight of the spear sprouting from his gut. Amazed at the boy before him, sick with a terror that Drugan could smell but yet standing victorious. Drugan laughed madly as his blood spilled, reaching out and grabbing Brac's shoulder. And then whatever evil light was in the man went out, and he felt to the floor, his sweaty hand smearing down the front of Brac's chest.

Brac gasped as the enormity of what he had done struck him. He could hear Zoug calling to him, hailing him as a man, a great man who had saved his people. But the moment was short lived. They heard more monsters outside, shouting to each other but yet out of sight. Brac and Zoug came together and stood before the common hearth. The boy looked up at the old man. He was sure he was going to die now. He didn't feel like a man, he felt like a frightened baby, he wanted to hide in his fur until it was all over. But there was no one else to protect the Clan now.

Zoug put his arm around Brac briefly. "For your people, Brac," Zoug said, and then he loaded his sling.

* * *

><p>Kieran jumped out at Daren, spear in hand.<p>

"There you are!" Daren snapped. "Just in time for the fun, eh? Drugan's already inside."

"You'd better not, Daren," Kieran said, shaking his head. "This whole thing is madness. You can't kill women and children! I'm going to get Drugan out, and you're not going to stop me."

"What's all this?" Daren demanded. "Gone traitor on us? Gone soft? Get out of my way, you fool! There's knife work to be done here!"

"I can't let you do that, Daren," Kieran said sadly, shaking his head. He stepped into Daren's path, and they clashed liked like two bulls locking horns. They grappled and swung, too close to make use of their spears. Their long knives came out and skin was torn, and blood spilled, and finally the loser fell to the ground.

* * *

><p>Brac stood his ground, though his eyes were wide, and if he could have wept he would have. He was shaking, both with terror and with some strange new sensation, almost like joy but stranger and dizzying and cold. He held a spear in his hand as finally, the second chalk-faced monster came into sight. Brac tightened his grasp on his spear, but he shook his head too. He didn't want to do this. He didn't think he could.<p>

And then, the chalk-face, bleeding, threw his knife to the ground and held his hands up in the air. He spoke, and his voice was soft, and Zoug stepped forward to give his old eyes and hands a better chance at hitting the invader. But then he frowned in wonder. One of the other monsters, the last one, lay dead just feet behind the chalk-face who had his hands up in the air. And now the living one fell to his knees and bowed his head, and put himself at the mercy of the old man and the little boy who clutched his spear so tightly in his small but strong hands.

* * *

><p>At the sound of her scream, the cool calm that Broud felt gazing on the dead invader drained immediately. Droog and Kirn looked at Broud, shocked.<p>

"Go back to the cave! Keep them safe!"  
>"Broud, you need us with you! It could be a trick, a trap, like your pits!"<p>

Broud shoved Droog angrily. "Go, go! Protect your mate, her child!" And then he turned on his heel and tore sideways over the mountain, his feet slipping, losing purchase on the icy rocks and snow.

He put his free hand out to catch himself as he slid down a rocky bank, and then he raced through the forest, chasing the dying echoes of her scream.

He saw the woman first; the blonde, the tall blonde with the piercing blue eyes, her face so like the one he had hated and yet now, for the first time, he saw true wickedness in a woman and he knew he had misjudged it all. His vision danced before him, the blonde spinning evil out of the sky, and it was not the one he had always feared to be his doom, but this woman before him with her sobbing filthy child and cruel laughter on her lips.

Drakav stepped around a tree, and a low growl of pure anguish and fury rose out of Broud's belly. Kyani was weak in the chalk-face's hard clutch, her head hanging sideways and her face stained with tears. And then Broud saw the blood streaming from her throat and staining her white fur shawl. There was no thought. There was no care. He charged down on Drakav as he had the cave lion. At the last moment, Drakav threw Kyani off and sunk the black blade deep into Broud's stomach.

Kyani screamed and ran for him. Ilona's laughter cackled, the baby sobbed violently. Broud gasped and sneered as the hot rush of pain sliced through him. A red screen blurred his vision, and his strength ebbed quickly, spilling with his lifeblood into the snow. But with the last of his strength, and the last of his fury, he grabbed Drakav and pulled him close, though the blade pressed mercilessly deeper. That didn't matter, only one thing mattered. This monster wouldn't touch her. The thought beat hard in his head, and Broud grabbed Drakav's hair, staring into the cold depths of the man's eyes. It was only a flash of a moment that he held the man of the Others, but in that moment he saw all manners of things in the foreigner's blue eyes. He saw hate and rage and lust and loss, and strangest of all, Broud even saw some small reflection of himself, of the potential within him unchecked by love and duty. Broud felt disgust, and then he felt pity. And then he snapped Drakav's neck with one quick twist of his powerful arms. He released Drakav as he would release a piece of dirt picked off his furs. He turned to Kyani, looking her over, then staring into her beautiful violet eyes sparkling with tears. He could not speak. Darkness came quickly, closing it at all sides. But before Broud fell to the ground his lips quivered and pulled up into a smile.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The fire burst into life on the burial pit. It was a great and wide pit, the most elaborate the Clan had ever dug and filled with all sorts of treasures the traveler would need on the journey. It could be likened to the royal tombs of later times, where a member of the sacred ruling family was laid to their eternal rest. For indeed, Broud's name and family would be highly honored for as long as the Clan continued.

"Come on, Brac, Grev, Vorn! Oga, Asha!" Kyani held her hands on her hips as she rushed the children-and the new little man-along. They hurried towards the fire, carrying the dishes and cups used for the funeral feast. Once the hearth was cleared, Kyani gazed for one sad moment on the empty place where the soft furs used to lie. And then she turned and hurried to another fur, and knelt down to offer her hand.

"You can't lift me up!" Broud complained gruffly, waving her off. "Look at you, no bigger than a child and always trying to pull me off the ground." He pushed himself slowly, cringing and groaning at the pain in his belly. Uba said it would take many moons until the pain was fully gone, and the scars would remain forever. Broud didn't care about the scars; he rather liked them, and he enjoyed showing them off to his boys. He had been lucky. In his haste, Drakav had rammed his blade into one of the few places in the belly where both organs and large veins would be left unbroken. It had been the infection that had really frightened Uba, but somehow the powerful leader had battled his way through the darkness and the fire of his fever. Uba, who did not to presume to know about spirits, of course, privately believed that Ursus and Woolly Rhinoceros had guided Broud back to the world. Now as the snow melted and the first crocuses pushed up from the cold earth, Broud was finally walking, cranky and miserable that he couldn't hunt just when the earth around him was bursting forth with greening grasses, and the herds were returning. But though he groaned and griped there was a smile in his eyes, and he tucked Kyani's fragile little hand into the crook of his thick strong arm.

"I will miss Ebra," Kyani said sadly, gazing on as the fire rose while the other women rushed about, preparing the meal. After the attack, Ebra had been overwhelmed, helping to tend to the injured. Her health had had been poor all winter, though she never complained. The strain of the attack and Broud's injury was too much for the old woman, and her heart had given out in her sleep not long after Broud came out of his fever. But Ebra had died happy, knowing her son to have saved their people, sure that his name would live on in the legends as long as tales were told.

"My mother was a good woman," Broud agreed. "She walks with Ursus now."

Kyani nodded, closing her eyes and leaning her head against Broud's arm, just for a quick moment. How close she had come to losing him. How warm he was now, how strong and sweet was the faint scent of him, like earth and smoke and pine. Ebra and Aga had to hold Kyani down so that Uba could tend to the wound on her neck, as the young woman had struggled and screamed to be near Broud. She would bear the scar of Drakav's knife forever, as would Broud. Grod had some nasty cuts and Goov had been knocked unconscious, and had lingered a frightening time in the world of the spirits. But they had survived, all but the hunter Tag who had suffered under Drugan's cruel knife. Kirn had taken news of Broud's great victory along with Tag's amulet when he had left for Varn's cave, and soon the word would spread, that the Clan need not suffer the aggression of others ever again. Broud would be hailed as a hero; but Kyani was simply glad he lived on, to grouch and complain about being cave-bound in his convalescence.

She knew now, of course, that her father was dead. Kieran had told her, and she had told Kieran that it would have been impossible for the Clan to burn the camp. Ilona's lie was agony for Kieran, and he immediately set out to find his daughter, as Ilona had fled with the baby the moment she saw Droog and Kirn charging down the mountain. Kieran swore Ilona would not raise the child, she didn't deserve to. And as proof of this, the baby was found wandering alone in the forest, abandoned. The Clan had grudgingly given Kieran provisions and sent him on his way. They thought he would seek Ilona, but when the first hunting party of the early spring returned, they bore grim news along with their kill. A woman's remains were near the rushing stream, picked nearly clean but for some clothes and a woven belt that Kyani identified as Ilona's. Bits of fur from hyenas had been found clinging to the rough bark of a nearby tree, and marks from their powerful jaws were found on the bones. For all Ilona had done, Kyani had shuddered to hear of her end. Being eaten alive by the nasty predators, who always hunted and feasted in packs, would be a brutal, terrifying death. No less than the ugly hag deserved, Broud had opined from his sick bed, and there was no more talk of it.

After an appropriate period of mourning for Ebra, there was a great celebration. Brac was permitted to re-enact his kill, and the eloquent emotion he revealed touched all hearts. He had his father's gift of story-telling but the fear he had wrestled with had made him a far more humble young man than Broud ever was or ever could be. Afterwards, early vegetables and herb roasted meat were served, along with gathered and elaborately prepared eggs, and special tea made from fresh green leaves to celebrate the season. And then, Brac and Asha had been mated, and the shy young man took his lovely, adoring mate to a hearth at the back of the cave, where Brac proudly assumed the place of the lowest ranking hunter in Broud's Clan. Brac would still be anxious on his hunts, but after all, as Broud told him (rather jealously and anxious himself, as he was unable to hunt with or watch over his boy), killing a four-legged beast is nothing to killing a two-legged one. But Brac, like Brun, would favor the bola and other means of long-distance trapping or killing for the rest of his life.

The Clan settled into their easy, seasonal rhythm again. When the weather warmed fully Broud felt strong enough to take them down to the sea coast, and they stood in the river where Ona quite nearly lost her life years before. Growing ripe with Goov's child, the young woman gratefully sat on the shore near Zoug, flattered by the old man's attention as he told her tales of her mother as a baby, and of Brun and Creb and even Ayla. Ona cast her eyes down for a long time then, until Zoug, a perceptive man, prompted her to speak.

"I remember it," Ona told him, looking warily at Broud as she spoke. Broud was having a wonderful time in the refreshing water, finally able to participate in something physical, standing beside Kyani who laughed aloud as they thrashed the fish towards the Clan's woven nets. "I remember when she saved me. It was right there," Ona told him, gesturing out to the place where Brac stood by Durc, letting the boy feel the thrill of helping to catch fish while guarding him like an older brother should. "The water pulled me down, and I gulped at it, and then I tried so hard to fight the current but soon everyone was getting smaller. I just went down. And there she was, swimming like a sturgeon. She had no fear at all, Zoug."

"Yes, she was a strange woman," Zoug commented. He had his own private memories of the girl, involving gleaming eyes the color of the sky and sweet, sweet raspberries. If he had been a younger man, he would have taken the girl for his mate.

"Yes," Ona repeated obediently, but then she said, "It's only… Only that I wonder if she is not dead."

Zoug sucked his breath warily, his eyes on Broud now, too, and Goov as well. "The leader ordered it done and the mog-ur and the spirits did it," Zoug reminded her sternly.

"I know," Ona said softly. She was quite naturally a docile girl, like most Clan women. An onlooker might think that she feigned it, for so sweet was her nature, so gentle and feminine, that neither Zoug nor any other Clan man could see Ona as defiant, even as she kept on at a subject that a man had expressed disinterest in. "It's just that… Well, we share a piece of our spirits, Zoug, and I think I would feel something if she was dead. But nothing ever changed, not when she died, nor when she walked away as a spirit, nor that day to this."

"Hush, Ona," Zoug said firmly. He would never admit to thinking about Ayla as often as he did. He thought of the two girls of the Others that had driven Broud so mad, first with fury and then with adoration. Broud spoke strangely about some Mother spirit sometimes, only before his ceremonial tea fully kicked in and brought him back to his origins. He thought that Kyani was her perfect daughter, sweet and soft, as yielding as good earth where the flowers and fruit trees grew. But Zoug thought that if all of this was true, and some earth mother was the spirit of Kyani and Ayla's people, then surely Ayla was like Her as well, if another aspect. The earth was not always sweet, sometimes it killed. Sometimes it healed. Ayla did both. Zoug missed her, even some two and a half years later.

The summer went on, and Broud grew strong again. He screamed with joy to hunt again, as the incredible rush swept him on, running with his brothers to chase down big game. In the fall Varn's men returned, in gratitude. Another group of invaders had menaced some of their women and tried to steal their meat on a hunting trip, and Varn had given them battle instead. No Clans had been menaced since, as reported by the strong legged messengers who sometimes ran between Clans with intermarriages and other ties. Now they offered to go mammoth hunting with Broud, who could not resist. They knew he could not effect a good mammoth hunt with so few active men. But Brac came along happily, and got to thrust a spear into a young strong cow several times his height at the shoulder. And Ona had a boy, who Kyani immediately snapped up for Suki, Aga's daughter. Kyani already knew who her own daughter would mate: Vorn, Uba's son, Oga's second cousin and a fellow bearer of the sacred blood that made medicine women, mog-urs, and leaders. Kyani saw a dynasty, and Broud shrugged his shoulders and decided that unless some important need or some man's desire overrode his mate's schemes, looking at babies and choosing future mates felt like appropriate women's work to him. Kyani would never know how big of a change this was, or how much of a compliment and an anomaly it was, considering that Clan women had never before had such stake in planning the future.

Already she had changed Broud, and changed them all. On quiet summer nights and endless winter days, Clan women fussed and cut and beaded their wraps, and then their hair, and then they gilded their wrists and ankles as Kyani did. Iza would not have recognized her daughter in her fancy dress (Broud gave her plenty fine furs as well), and her brown hair full of little braids and musically clinking beads. The men liked it, and so it stayed. Broud did love his second mate, who was very lovely and in the end, quite a skilled medicine woman. He thought with pleasure about the next Clan Gathering, how fine he would seem with such lovely women attending on him, and such strong, talented children at his hearth. Of course Kyani was his heart, and she knew it, and she was not resentful when he appreciated Uba and gave her pretty things. Kyani would not want for Uba to be lonely and unappreciated. But even more than that, though, even though Kyani was not a selfish girl, she was human: she knew that Broud was utterly hers, and so she never worried that he could love another more. Yet still, Uba did not turn up pregnant, and as the year waned Uba began to look more at Oga. Kyani took the chance to tell Uba that her aunt was a medicine woman, and Uba's expression told Kyani that Uba was thinking in the same vein.

"But Oga is not of my mother's line," Uba lamented.

Kyani made a small, rare smile. Broud had told her never to discuss her knowledge with anyone else. It was too revolutionary for the Clan, and thus it was in his domain as leader to decide when and if to tell that men had a physical part in making babies. "Perhaps she has the memories though, all the same," was what Kyani said.

Uba thought for a long while. "Oh, well," she said, "I must replenish my herbs before the frost. Perhaps I will take the girl with me, if you'd allow it."

Kyani nodded too eagerly. "Anytime you like, Uba. Anytime."

Two years later, Oga was well on her way to being an acolyte. She helped Uba sort her less dangerous herbs, and she did, in fact, have the memories. Kyani was stunned at how her child could see a new plant on walks, and though she could not give a name, the little girl knew that it was not harmful but beneficial in nature, and worth picking.

"That is a potent gift," Kyani told Broud at night. "Incredible."

Broud, who enjoyed smiling at her now, made a smug little grin. "You want more of my babies, then?"

Kyani flushed, laying her hands on his powerful chest. "Broud… It is difficult for me."

"No," he objected, kissing her face softly. "It was just that first time, I promise. I know. You are mine now, completely mine. You are Clan, all the way."

And in fact, this was true. In the late autumn, the very year Oga had been weaned, Kyani went into labor again. She had expected it to be deadly hard and painful, and she had walked, with at least one of the other men as a guard, up and down the mountain every day to condition her body. What she did not know was that since her body had endured Oga's birth, little Ebra's would be much easier. Though her body still employed a great deal of strength to turn a baby that wouldn't budge, Ebra came with much less struggle and Kyani did not feel as though her hips were breaking. Sweaty and breathless, she held her second daughter moments after birth, and Broud held them both, and in just days Kyani was up again. Broud looked on his mate and their two little girls and knew the truth of his vision, and the peace of the blessings of Ursus.

He was a much different man than when he had set out to kill the Others. He was, now, truly, a full man. He could be rash and intemperate at times still, but he was a good leader. He even thought that Brun might be proud of him, and though the old leader was long dead, Broud felt the desire for Brun's approval as strongly as he ever had. But these days, Broud was doing right. He felt himself complete. The Clan grew and waned with the seasons, and Broud hunted and told his stories and loved his mates and his children with his full heart. He was, finally, at peace.

* * *

><p>Epilogue<p>

The old leader wrapped his furs a little tighter around his strong body. Though it was summer he couldn't shake the chill that had plagued him for days, nor the ache in his bones and his old battle scar. Sometimes the pain of his arthritis was so great that he didn't want to hunt, but he refused to tell his mates even though one was a medicine woman. The leader had known much success in the hunt and in battle, but these final enemies, time and age, not even he could defeat.

But as he sat musing on his life, Broud thought he had much to be grateful for. He had many children and six grandchildren, and two fine mates who, in their late twenties now, were still adoring and utterly lovely in two very different ways. His name had become a legend among the Clan, firmly planted into the memories and hearts of his people, and it was only through his mastering of war that he had brought the peace of mutual respect and wariness between the Clan and the Others. The fears that had once plagued his nightmares were conquered, and Broud knew once and for all that Ursus had blessed him greatly. And he had his health-somewhat-and enough muscle and stamina to hunt when he wanted to. Though silver had finally started to creep into his red-brown hair, Broud had no cause to be dissatisfied with any part of his life.

Broud pushed himself up and strolled to the mouth of his cave. Before him was the next generation of the Clan, and it pleased him to watch them in the various roles he and Kyani had guided them into.

Durc, Goov's impressive acolyte and a hunter of high repute, sat on the ground with his feet firmly planted in the center of his latest creation, a thick band of wood and treated ibex horn pasted together in layers. As Groob the toolmaker watched the way an anxious father hovers over a child taking his first steps, Durc pulled the two ends hard together and strained to slip a taunt sinew into the groove on one end of the bow.

Asha approached Groob's young mate Ebra, her hands on her hips. "What _are_ they making?" she wondered, shifting her two year old son to her hip.

"Groob won't say a word to me, of course," Ebra pouted, her dark eyes sparkling. "But I think I have some idea. I see him huddling over his babies around the hearth, sharpening them and wrapping them if soft hides! They've made a whole bunch of skinny little spears, and I think they mean to throw the spears with that… that creation Durc's tugging on. It was Durc's idea, you know, not that Groob would ever admit it."

"He'll be a good mog-ur," Asha decided. "He's got such vision! Most men would never do anything that the memories don't speak of. But Durc is always designing strange new things, sketching them out in charcoal on that plank of wood he carries with him. Surely he will hear new things from the spirits, things that will help us all."

"He adheres to tradition, too, Asha," Ebra observed. "He respects nothing more than the Clan, the spirits, and the memories. But remember, the stories say that Broud saved the Clan by trying new things to fight the Others, and Durc was raised by Broud. Maybe that's where he gets it from."

Durc suddenly looked up, the way someone might when feeling some familiar warmth in the wind. His hair, glinting with gold, blew back in the gentle spring breeze. Durc narrowed his eyes curiously, letting the string go loose and the bow revert to its original form. For a long moment the great hunter-priest sat still, listening to the spirits in the wind.

* * *

><p>"I don't know, I just don't know."<p>

The woman froze in the swaying grasses. The majestic rising peaks, the calls of the birds, even the smell of the grass raised a lump of fear in her throat, an old fear she had thought long dead.

Her mate took her hand, raised it to his lips, and cradled it softly. "You said you had to do this. You said you couldn't go another day without knowing. And we've come all this way…"

The woman shook her head, the insecurities crowding together in her mind and vying for a place on her tongue. "What if they don't want us here? What if they attack us? You know there are stories now, that the Clan has ways of dealing with unwanted guests! What if we are not welcome? And what if… What if he's no longer with them?"

The man smiled, hugging the woman and speaking in his soft, intimate voice. "Come now, beloved, where is the brave woman I tied the knot with? The woman who raises wolves and hunts better than most men I know? You cannot be afraid now!"

"Jondalar-" she said quietly, the tears rising in her eyes.

"Ayla, if they don't want us here, we will leave. But at least we'll have tried. At least you can be at peace, finally, after all this time. Besides, remember: there is peace now, and even a little trade between the more sensible of our peoples."

"Jondalar, what if Broud is still their leader?"

"If we are not welcome, we will leave," Jondalar repeated steadily. What he didn't say was that he had no intention of letting anything happen to his mate, the love of his life. But nearly twenty years had passed since Broud had cursed Ayla. Who could nurse a grudge for so long? Besides, it wasn't likely this Broud man was even alive still, let alone the leader. "Come on, Ayla. Let's try to find Durc."

A high series of whistles rang through the valley and up to the mountaintop. Vorn called back and jogged steadily to Broud. "Visitors coming. Two, a man and a woman. Others, armed but at ease, and making no effort to hide."

Broud grunted, and looked over to Brac. It was coming near to the time that Brac would have to assume leadership, though Broud held onto his place the way a starving wolf clutches a hank of flesh. But Brac was in a deep conversation with Goov, and Broud thought a hike down the mountain might do him some good. "Vorn, fetch Durc. The two of you can come with me to see what these visitors want from us."

Broud was not terribly concerned. There were traders now, and Kyani insisted that these traders would want the mother-of-pearl from inside the special mollusk shells at the shore. She had a head for these things, his little mate, and it amused him now in his powerful maturity to let Kyani have her schemes and peculiar fancies. She still delighted him. He threw a quick look at her, and she swept out a finely woven basket with a thin pattern of black bands around the bottom, signifying Clan goods. "I want jet," she murmured, a black stone she had grown fond of, a stone that matched the sheen of her pretty hair.

"I hope your shells are very fine, then," Broud taunted, his eyes all fire. He would grin, if it was his way. If Kyani and the women wanted to trade muscle shells, they could collect them, then. Unless the day was very pleasant for men to visit the shore, that is. Broud set the basket to the side of his hearth, in case these two Others were traders carrying desirable goods.

Broud strolled down the hill. His son and the mate of his daughter jogged a little behind him, enjoying the warmth and freshness of the day. He gazed out over his valley with the pleasure of a king surveying his peaceful realm. And then he was struck by a vision. Broud stumbled and fell back more than fifteen years into the past.

The grass swayed the same way. The stream gurgled and rushed over her reflection. It was spring again, the spring of Broud's youth, and everything was wild and new. But she was not alone with a brace of ptarmigans. She stood tall beside a man who looked much like her, with very bright gold and silver hair, and her eyes were shining with tears under a cool autumn sun.

Vorn turned to Broud curious to find the older man shaken by the sight of the tall woman. Durc stared for a while, and then he put his head down and spoke to Broud with the private title that all of Broud's sons used. He hardly dared to breathe. "Father? Is this real?"

Broud wasn't entirely sure. The shock of seeing her was so strong it might have thrown him completely on his back if he didn't stand his ground. But yet, some part of him had always known that she was alive. He took in her straight, honest gaze, her fine clothes, the proud carriage that came from her high status. He thought she looked powerful, and quite calm. He would never have guessed what it was for her to stand there, facing him at last. Broud looked at Durc. "Go on then," he said quietly, resting his hand on the young man's back for a moment. "See your mother." He gave Ayla a tiny, half-hearted little nod, and turned to begin his climb up the forested path.

He did not want to know what went on between them, Broud's son and the mother Broud had stolen away from him. He didn't think it was his place. Kyani saw the shock on his face when he sat down at the hearth. Broud immediately turned to Uba. "Go down the hill. There's someone you want to see. Don't make a big noise about it, though."

And then Broud thought, most of the old people are dead anyway. None of his young hunters, his sons and their cousins, knew too much about Ayla. He thought it would not cause much of a disturbance to set out some meat, at least. He told Kyani to prepare what food they had, and she stood with her hands on her hips a long while after he left her to it, wondering what her mate was about. And then Broud ordered all the food sent to Ura, who was also told to lay out fine furs and carved bone and ivory cups at her hearth. And, strangest of all, Broud retreated to his own secluded hearth and sat down before the fire, as if he would rest.

Kyani was stunned when Durc brought the woman into the cave, and to his hearth. She knew right away that it was Ayla; it could be no one else, the way Durc's eyes shone with love and a joy he never expected to feel in this life. Kyani fetched some chamomile tea and sat before Broud, offering it to him and waiting for permission to speak.

"It's her, all right," Broud said before giving Kyani permission, because he knew what she would say. Kyani slipped beside him as he said, "It's her spirit, come to haunt me."

"I don't think she's here for you at all, Broud," Kyani said simply. The blonde woman wept now, embracing her son. Durc's high status was apparent to Ayla, by the size of his hearth and the fine goods stored there. Durc had just told her that he was Goov's acolyte, but a few seasons away from being a great mog-ur. Ayla had expected her boy to be death cursed, driven off at the worst, or at best a low ranking hunter. She could not believe he was a highly respected hunter and acolyte, mated to Ura, and with a fine son and daughter of his own, a daughter with blue eyes.

Broud grunted softly at the truth of Kyani's words. Soon, though they had their own hearths, Broud's daughters came hurrying over, Oga clutching her daughter in a gorgeous shell adorned carrying wrap. "Who is that woman at Durc's hearth?" Oga asked, shocked to see her sensible older brother Durc in such an emotional state.

"His mother," Broud admitted, pushing himself up again, his knees creaking.

"Durc's mother! We want to meet her!" Ebra cried giddily. She was the youngest girl at Broud's hearth, and he spoiled her more than a good Clan man should. Even the youngest, Broud and Kyani's son Varin, joined his curious sisters.

Kyani scolded her children, but there was no help for it. Ayla's presence had caused too much excitement, even among those who had never known her name. The sight of Durc, Ayla, and Uba sharing such happiness was enough to stoke the interest of the young Clan.

Broud gave another noncommittal grunt. He was irritated that Ayla had returned, like the incorrigible spirit she was, to spoil the peace of his autumn years. And then he chastised himself; he had banished the woman for trying to protect Creb, a poor reason, a wicked reason. His intention had been for her to die in truth. He had stripped Durc of his mother and the Clan of a beloved and skilled medicine woman, and no good had come of it. Had he the decision to make again, he would never have sent her away. It was not out of anger or dislike that he picked up a bola and a spear, and waved Groob over to join him for a little hunting. It was shame that kept him from joining his family as they welcomed back the long lost woman. Even Brac had gone to see Ayla, to show her what a strong hunter he had become, a thing that never would have happened had she not saved his life many years before.

Goov met him at the mouth of the cave, slightly flustered. "I'm not sure… Well, we cursed her Broud… I don't know how safe this is."

"There's nothing for it, Goov," Broud said gruffly. "She just won't stay dead. Maybe it was wrong to do, and that is why Ursus did not take her to the next world. Or maybe Durc brought her back, saved her life, you know. When he was a baby, and he entered the sacred chamber. I just don't know, Goov. But my head aches. Work your protective magic, if you feel better doing it, but I don't think we need it in this case."

"So you welcome her, and her companion."

Broud sighed heavily. He waved to Groob, and the two headed off down the trail. He looked over his shoulder to Goov and called, "You might want to do a little extra hunting yourself, mog-ur. Seems like we'll need some more meat around here."

Kyani knew that Broud had given his permission, though he didn't exactly say it. She pulled out her son's best clothes, a wrap and boots lined with grey wolf fur, and bid the boy to change. Then she changed into her own finest dress, hung with beads of jet and rare amethyst that matched her eyes and trimmed with black fur. For a few moments her daughters fluttered about her hearth, picking through Kyani's boxes of necklaces and other ornaments. Oga swept her baby up again, and Ebra, who was in the early stages of pregnancy herself, hurried beside them. Kyani put her arm over her tall son's shoulders, and they walked over to Durc's hearth, where they stood by the hearthstones in silence.

Ayla's steady gaze took in the small woman with her ivory skin and deep black hair-obviously born to the Others-and her three children. The two daughters were extremely beautiful, like their mother, their brilliant chestnut hair flowing down their backs. The boy was Broud, almost completely, but very tall and with dark indigo eyes. Ayla could hardly believe the level of intricacy in the Clan's costumes, and now she understood. This woman was the cause of it. And this woman-Ayla could see clearly-was Broud's woman. Ayla was a trained priestess, more than that, for she possessed all the Mother's gifts where most wise women had but one or two. But for the life of her, she couldn't understand how Broud had come to mate this woman, or how so many changes had happened to his Clan. She could still hardly believe she was sitting at her son's hearth, holding her granddaughter in her lap. Her only regret now was leaving Jonayla behind. But how could she ever have guessed that she would be welcomed with love and good food? Her sight had been blind to Broud's Clan, except for a steady sense that her son was alive. Now she saw that he had been well brought up, and he called Broud his mother's mate. Something very strange had happened here, and Ayla could not begin to understand it.

The woman greeted her in a southern dialect of her own speech, of course badly worn away and with a heavy Clan accent. "I am Kyani," she said. "A long time ago I was born to Namundonii, the Wandering People of the Mother. But I have been Clan since I was but six months a woman. As the leader's mate, I welcome the mother of the son of my mate."

Ayla bowed her head, and told Kyani that she was grateful for the welcome, and so was her mate Jondalar, who sat silently, enjoying Ayla's surprised joy. Internally she reeled: the woman knew? She knew that Broud was Durc's father? Who else knew, Ayla wondered? And then she realized that Kyani could not have called Durc the son of her mate without Broud's recognition, and permission, unless more had changed than she knew! Broud had taken Durc in, Broud had known. Ayla hadn't wanted to violate Clan etiquette, but she had seen the leader leave the cave with Groob. Now, she wished that he would return, if only so she could meet his eyes and read him, and thank him somehow. "You have very lovely children," Ayla said.

Kyani permitted herself a smile; it was appropriate, after all. "This is Oga, my eldest. She is named for Broud's first mate Oga, who died before I came to the Clan. Did you know Oga?"

"I knew her well, and I am sorry to hear that she walks in the next world. How did she die?"

"There was an attack," Kyani said plainly. "Those who were once my people came to kill, for sport. Broud lost his mate, and Brun, his father. And many others. But that is behind us now. Broud has made us safe, and Brac will continue his father's vigilance. And Oga is training to be a medicine woman; she is very skilled. She is mated to Uba's son Vorn, a strong hunter. This is my second daughter Ebra. She is newly mated to Groob. And this fine young man of nine winters is my son Varin, which is a close enough rendering in Clan language of my father's name Gadvin."

Ayla greeted the handsome children courteously. And then she focused all her skill on Kyani, and she read passion and hardship and struggle, combined with something of the pampered flashiness of many adored women of high status that she had known. Kyani, whose aunt was a holy woman of some skill, knew that she was being examined, and she smiled softly. "I am pleased you have come to see Durc," Kyani said. "It has been the great desire of his life. He is a fine hunter, Ayla, and very skilled with spirits. He will be a great mog-ur, Broud and I are sure of it. I see now that perhaps he has inherited some of the gifts of his mother, as well as being Iza and Creb's great nephew."

"Perhaps," Ayla said with typical modesty, even as Jondalar choked on a bit of laughter. Ayla kept her warm gaze on Kyani and said, "I see, also, that perhaps I have much to thank you for, Kyani. We will have much to discuss, I believe."

Kyani nodded slightly, politely; but she thought that it was not her who Ayla needed to speak most with. But he was as stubborn as an old bison, and Kyani thought it unlikely that Ayla would begin the conversation after all the bitterness that had been between them. So she was astounded when Broud returned later and threw an ibex down at her feet, saying, "Durc! Invite your mother and her companion to eat with us tonight."

Ayla looked up at this unexpected invitation. A woman given much reverence in her world, she feared that she would not be able to assume a docile enough posture for Broud; and she had sworn that she never would, never again, for it would be to betray herself and the oaths she had taken. But something had happened to Broud, something that had changed his insides even though he looked so much the same, if bigger and older. He gave a little grunt showing his lack of surprise at her pride, and then he looked levelly into Ayla's eyes, and bowed his head slightly. Ayla was still clinging to Durc's hand, as if she would never let it go again, and Broud, shocked to his soul, found that he was deeply, deeply satisfied in the end.


End file.
